


The Answer To All My Prayers

by amandaterasu



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, May/December Relationship, Patch 5.0: Shadowbringers Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2020-10-13 10:53:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20581319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amandaterasu/pseuds/amandaterasu
Summary: The (female) Warrior of Light returns to House Fortemps in the wake of her adventures on the First, looking for space to deal with emotional aftermath of her adventures.This fic is based off a drabble/one-shot type thing written by @campdragonhead on twitter. It will be expanded into a larger fic, though updates will be slow, as this is being written when I have time/inspiration around my other fics.This fic uses the InteractiveFics browser extension for Chrome. For this story you will need to set the following substitutes:(Y/N) - Your WOL's first name.(L/N) - Your WOL's last name.(R/N) - Your WOL's race. (Don't forget to capitalize the first letter!)





	1. Welcome Home

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment and let me know what you think! I know this is like the ultimate rarepair, but w/e, enjoy it. For updates when I post new chapters, you can subscribe, or follow me on twitter: @amandaterasu

Edmont de Fortemps glanced up from his book at the sound of ruckus from downstairs. It was late, well past midnight, and he had been considering seeking his bed at the end of this chapter. With a weary sigh, he set the book aside, and rose to his feet to go see what all the commotion was.

The halls were unusually empty - devoid of those few servants who lingered to ensure any members of the family who might be awake late, like he was, could still be attended to. Their absence told him it _was_ a member of the family - else they would not have left their posts. He wondered idly who it would be. Artoirel was still in Ala Mhigo with the knights of House Fortemps, proving himself an able commander, restoring the image of House Fortemps as its new count. Emmanellain was _supposed_ to be at Camp Dragonhead. And Haurchefant…

Edmont closed his eyes for a moment, as the grief over losing the child overtook him again, as fresh as the day it happened. He remembered the despair on (Y/N)’s face as she told him, and how the girl blaming herself had added another twist of the knife to an already bottomless pain. The thought of her made his steps quicken. There was one other child to whom this house would always be open, even if he hadn’t seen her in years.

“Aah, My Lord,” one of the guards said, saluting as he approached. “Your ward, Lady (Y/N), has returned.” Edmont gave the man a quick nod, but strode past without stopping. “Master Firmien has the matter well in hand,” the guard called hopefully, but Edmont didn’t even blink. He would not leave her welcome to his steward.

“Come, Mistress (L/N), let’s see you to your rooms,” Firmien was saying as the retired Count entered. “I’ll call the maids and have a bath and a meal sent to your -” The steward paused as Edmont entered, a strange look on his face. “My lord, forgive me, I did not want to disturb you.”

“Nonsense,” Edmont replied, echoed by the click of his cane as it moved from carpet to marble. “(Y/N) is a member of this family.” He turned his attention to her, curled in on herself and shivering in the lamplight, snow quickly melting in her hair. “My dear, welcome home.” She began sobbing, then, and Edmont did not know what to do with himself, other than let her cry into the thick fur of his coat. He gently patted her back until she had composed herself. “Would you like to go have a bath and some rest, or would you prefer to talk? You seem _quite_ troubled.”

“I need to talk to _someone_,” (Y/N) said, then gave a small, panicky laugh. “This was the only place I could…” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m being ridiculous. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Nonsense,” Edmont said again, and laughed. “This is your home. You are always welcome here. Come, we’ll go to my study. Firmien, some brandy, if you would.” The steward nodded, and Edmont placed his hand in the center of her back, guiding the (R/N) up the stairs.

* * *

She sat on the settee, a half-filled snifter wrapped in her hands, staring into the fire, while Edmont lit a small candle at the shrine wedged between two bookcases. He had always been a pious man, and though many changes had rocked Ishgard in recent years, that did not make Halone less deserving of his devotion. Tonight, instead of lighting the candle for (Y/N)’s continued safety in her journeys, he lit it in thanks for her safe return to the manor. It flickered brightly beside the one lit for the repose of Haurchefant’s soul.

“So, my dear, what has happened?” He lowered himself to the settee as well, and took up his glass.

(Y/N) said nothing for a long time, but he gave her space. At his age, if he had learned nothing else, he had learned patience. When her glass was low, he refilled it, then his own, and took a sip, just thankful to know she was all right.

“It’s a long story,” she whispered finally, still staring into the fire.

Edmont laughed. “I’m retired. I have nothing but time.”

(Y/N) shrugged off her coat and her satchel, reaching into the latter and pulling out a book, setting it on the low table before them, beside the decanter of brandy. He stared, in shock, at the ancient, ragged tome - bound in red leather, an image of a dragon, and the title, picked out in gilt. _Heavensward_. Edmont glanced to its sister, freshly printed, leather still stiff and new, sitting on his desk. He had written this book, but the copy she produced was older than he was, if he was to judge by the cracking leather along the spine, and the yellowing crispness of its pages.

“My dear,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Perhaps you should start at the beginning.”

* * *

(Y/N) was sobbing in his arms again, half in his lap on the settee, and despite the impropriety of it, Edmont let her, merely honored that she trusted him enough to be this vulnerable. He cradled her head in one hand, rubbing his thumb idly over the curve of her head beneath her hair, and thought about all the things she’d told him. How their world was merely an echo of an ancient, older world. Words about sunderings, primals named Zodiark and Hydaelyn, and a glorious city called Amaurot. Of the Ascian’s plan to destroy everything, to bring back those they loved. No wonder she was shaken and in tears.

“It will all be all right, my dear,” he murmured. “You are home. You are safe. The walls of House Fortemps and two dozen well-trained knights stand between you and the troubles of the world, not to mention the walls and knights of Ishgard itself, who would rise to your defense as well, without hesitation.”

“I am not supposed to need walls. Or knights,” (Y/N) cried, her fingers threaded through the fur of his coat as she clung to him like a child. “I’m the Warrior of Light, the Warrior of Darkness! The Liberator of Ala Mhigo and Doma and a thousand other things besides!”

Edmont laughed. “You don’t have to be. At least not here. This is your _home_, (Y/N).” He swallowed. “At least, if you want it to be.” He felt her weight shift, and she placed her hand in the center of his chest, sitting up to look at him, and he froze upon realizing she was straddling him.

The firelight caught her hair in the stillness of the predawn hours, and reflected in her eyes. For a moment, Edmont understood how that new cult had sprung up, the one that whispered that the Warrior of Light, (Y/N), was actually Halone in the flesh, for had she not fought in war after war, always bringing victory to the righteous? He could see the comparison. The stillness in her skin, the marble-like hardness of her muscles just beneath - ancient stone walls to protect the warmth of hearth and home, the warmth at the heart of Ishgard, beneath her breast.

Edmont opened his mouth to speak, but she placed a finger on his lips, and took another swallow of brandy, before leaning over to set the snifter on the table. The movement made him aware that his hands had settled on her hips instinctively, that there were only a few layers of - _blessedly_ thick - fabric between their bodies. 

While he was still racking his brain over what to do or say, (Y/N) took her finger from his lips and leaned forward, kissing him tentatively, just the barest brush of lips, then she pulled away, leaving him cold again, watching to gauge his reaction. All Edmont could think about was how lonely he had not realized he was. His wife long dead, Haurchefant gone, his sons grown and making their way in the world, and he retired, doing nothing but reading and doddering about the manor as if his life was over. That loneliness, he realized, was an inverse of her own - the loneliness of power: while Edmont had no one left to rely on him, everyone relied on her.

All these things and more whirled through Edmont’s mind, but went blessedly silent when she leaned towards him again, and he sat up to meet her, the rest of the night lost in a haze of brandy.

* * *

Edmont de Fortemps awoke, and immediately groaned in pain, shutting his eyes against the harsh light of the morning sun. He’d had far too much to drink the night before, and his head ached, along with the rest of him. He could barely feel his right arm, and his chest felt heavy.

_Oh, Halone,_ he thought, supremely embarrassed. _(Y/N). I shall have to find her and apologize._ Edmont did not drink to excess often, and he chided himself for taking such advantage when she was emotionally vulnerable. He tried to open his eyes again, but the light was another lance to his head, and he snapped them shut, gritting his teeth and holding his breath a moment to make the pain subside…

… only for his eyes to snap open again, and look down, pain be damned. Edmont had been holding his breath, yet had still heard breathing.

There, curled up against him, her head on his right shoulder, her arm and leg draped over him, was (Y/N), as nude as he was, fast asleep in his bed.

_Oh, Edmont,_ he thought. _What have you gotten yourself into this time?_


	2. In Hopefulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont begins to feel for the edges of this new romance.

As if his life in some ghastly comedy being performed in the Brume, Edmont winced as his bedroom door opened, and Firmien entered. “Forgive the intrusion, Lord Edmont, but Lord Aymeric has sent a page and -” The steward stopped, his eyes wide as saucers staring at the bed, and then immediately span on his heel, his face turned away. 

He continued speaking, as (Y/N) began to stir. “Lord Aymeric has sent word that Lady (Y/N) was seen within the city last night, and he wishes to speak with her. He was hoping to learn if she had returned here. At the moment I have told the page that I was not awake to receive her last night, but that I will check into it. What would you prefer I tell him?”

Edmont glanced down at the woman in his arms, and she looked up at him, one eyebrow raised, no shame, confusion, or unpleasant hangovers for her. _Halone,_ he thought, _I envy the young._ He shrugged. “What would you prefer?”

(Y/N) sighed. “Please tell Aymeric I’ll be over soon, but I’ve just woken up and need a bath and something to eat before I depart.”

Firmien seemed visibly relieved at the excuse. “My lord, Lady (Y/N),” he said, and bowed, hurrying out of the chamber. 

She sat up and looked away from him, her gaze focused on the window for a moment. “So,” (Y/N) asked, attempting to sound strong, but he could still hear the tremble in her voice. “What would you prefer?”

The girl didn’t need to elaborate, and Edmont had no desire to make her. “Give me a moment, my dear.” He covered his eyes with one hand. _What is best for her? What is best for House Fortemps? What is best for Ishgard?_

He only realized he’d mumbled his thoughts aloud when she laughed. “You’ve given enough for Ishgard and House Fortemps. Let me worry over what is best for me. I’m asking what _you_ want, Edmont.” The way she said his name, so lighthearted and kind, made him think of falling asleep to the sound of cicadas in high summer. 

_What do I want?_ he pondered. Just as he had no one to rely on him, he had no one to gainsay him, save, nominally, Artoirel, but the boy wouldn’t unless he was doing something truly destructive. He lowered his hand and looked at her, reassessing the situation in the light of day, contemplating the events of the night before and what little he could remember. 

Edmont tried to imagine going back, pretending nothing had happened between them, letting it be a small indiscretion of which neither of them would speak. He couldn’t. Even now, with her facing away, he felt a pang of _regret_. Not over what had happened, but that he couldn’t remember it. Imagining how he would like to love her was far, _far_ easier, and invigorating besides. He let his mind linger on images of her hair falling between his fingers, her thighs rubbing against his hips, breathless kisses in his study. _At least I know what I want,_ he mocked himself. 

“Last night was a disaster,” he said aloud, and felt a minor victory when her back slumped almost imperceptibly. “Not because of what happened, but because I do not have the pleasure of remembering it beyond those first few kisses.”

(Y/N) looked at him out of the corner of her eye over one shoulder, and he reached for her, letting his fingertips brush her spine. “I would like to try again, my lady. Tonight, if you are amenable?” She turned to face him fully, and Edmont gave her what he hoped was a charming smile. “You deserve better than drunken fumbling.”

Her gaze was unreadable for a moment. “I’m not interested in a one-night stand. Well, two, in this case. You get my meaning.”

_Courage, Edmont,_ he thought to himself. She had opened the door. It was his choice to walk through it. “My dear,” he said, wrapping his fingers around her shoulder and levering himself up to kiss the back of her neck. “Neither am I.”

When (Y/N) smiled again, he cupped her cheek in one hand. “Join me for dinner this evening?”

“Until then,” she said, and he kissed her, finally, without the influence of drink.

* * *

Edmont strolled through the Jeweled Crozier, grumbling under his breath. The sun was still too bright, but he needed a gift of some type. He couldn’t very well take the Warrior of Light as his mistress without making some demonstration of his affections. As he eyed the shops, he turned the idea over in his mind. His _mistress_. He hadn’t had one since Haurchefant’s mother, and her passing had torn him to pieces, just as their son’s had. But that had been decades ago, and everything about (Y/N) reminded him of spring - of new beginnings, flowers in bloom, and laughter. _Halone,_ he thought, _I want to hear her laugh again._

He stopped near a jeweler’s and shook his head. Giving such lavish gifts after only one night would be rude, and implied he was trying to buy her. _Something small. Sentimental but not exorbitant._ He slowly turned in place, until his eyes settled on a small florist’s shop, tucked away in a back corner, pale mayflowers in a delicate arrangement swaying softly in the window.

Ducking his head low to avoid a dangling sprigs of thyme, Edmont pushed his way into the shop, smiling at the young man behind the counter. He bowed in greeting. “How can I be of assistance, my lord?”

Edmont glanced behind him at the door, and pulled it shut, then flipped the sign on the door from open to closed. “I am here to purchase a bouquet of flowers, and I am paying extra for discretion.”

The clerk laughed. “Of course, my lord.” He pulled out a large piece of waxed paper, thick and dark to prevent others from seeing the blooms within. He leaned on the counter and smiled. “So, tell me about her.”

When Edmont left an hour later, he was pleased with his purchase: a bouquet of plumeria, yellow tulips, and moonflowers (these, the priciest of all, enchanted to remain blooming for weeks rather than hours), twisted up with sprigs of dainty lemon and lime blossoms. He blushed to remember the last, but he would be lying if he did not admit that he wanted her. The whole was wrapped in the wax paper, unseen from the outside, then placed in a durable paper bag for ease of carrying. He laughed at himself, a moment. Firmien would have a fit to learn he had done his own shopping, but it was important that he take the time to do this himself. To often the joys of the simple acts of affection were lost when performed through the dance of servants.

He was about to take the aethernet back to the Last Vigil when a voice, surprisingly near, whispered, “Lord de Fortemps.”

He turned to find a young elezen girl, in pale blue robes, marking her out as a member of that strange cult. “Y-yes?” he asked, anxiously.

“Is it true, Lord de Fortemps?” The wind caught her robes and blue-black hair, tugging them in the chill breeze. 

“Is what true?” Something unsettled him, and he couldn’t place what it was.

“Has Halone returned to Ishgard, Lord de Fortemps?”

It was the way she named him, the staccato of each syllable. “You mean the Warrior of Light?”

“_Halone_, Lord de Fortemps.” She corrected, and smiled.

“Y-yes…” he frowned, eager to be away. “Though I do not know how long she will remain.”

The girl smiled, and turned. “Thank you, Lord de Fortemps.”

* * *

Edmont straightened his surcoat, and smiled to himself in the mirror. Firmien had helped him find an empty vase, and he’d arranged the flowers himself, and left them on the dresser of her room with a short note.

_In hopefulness. -E_

Now he merely needed to prepare himself mentally for the evening to come and -

“Father!” Emmanellain’s voice echoed through the manor. “Father! I’ve come to visit.” Even now, technically a man grown, Emmanellain could behave so childishly. Though of course the boy was welcome, Edmont wished, for a brief moment, he could disown him for a few hours.

“Father,” Emmanellain tumbled into his bedroom, without knocking, as usual. “I heard that (Y/N) had come back and -” The boy’s eyes lit up. “Going somewhere fun tonight, Father? You’re normally changed into something comfortable by now.”

“No,” he said, pulling on his gloves. “I am having dinner in with (Y/N).”

“Good! I’ll join you!” Emmanellain turned to go. 

Honoroit, ever in his son’s shadow, said, quietly. “I don’t think you are invited, my Lord.”

Edmont chuckled into his hand as his youngest froze. “N-Not invited? But why, Father?”

“Sometimes,” he replied, “a gentleman likes to have dinner with a lady _alone_.”

Emmanellain’s confusion was delightful for the few moments it lasted, but the boy wasn’t stupid. His eyes widened, and he took a step back. “Y-You…”

“You are supposed to be at Camp Dragonhead, Emmanellain.”

“Artoirel…” Emmanellain said, bringing a hand to his head.

“... is still serving in Ala Mhigo, and will be for some time.”

The boy’s eye twitched, and Honoroit spoke. “Come, my lord. We can take dinner in your rooms.”

* * *

Firmien had set out the small meal for the two of them in the study with a few bottles of fine wine. The flowers must have pleased her, for she had placed one of the Moonflowers in her hair, and the way she smiled when he commented on it made him feel they were worth every gil. 

They sat together, laughing about Emmanellain’s reaction, when he reached over and put an arm around her, pulling her close beside him, and she blushed, her pink cheeks shaded by the blossom’s delicate petals.

“Forgive me,” Edmont said, and stroked his thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve been prattling on. How was your day? What did Lord Aymeric want?”

(Y/N) blushed a little deeper. 

“He asked me to marry him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flower Meanings:
> 
> **Mayflower**: Welcome  
**Thyme**: Thriftiness  
**Plumeria**: Springtime, new beginnings  
**Yellow Tulips**: Cheerfulness and Hope  
**Moonflower**: Dreaming of Love  
**Lemon Blossom**: Discretion  
**Lime Blossom**: Fornication


	3. Frivolous (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont and (Y/N) finally have sex that they will remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think, either in the comments or on twitter!

Edmont’s eyebrows shot up. “H-He what?”

(Y/N) laughed. “Don’t worry, I turned him down.”

“Why?” Edmont’s brow furrowed. “Lord Aymeric is an excellent match. He has power, position, and your marriage would certainly be quite advantageous to him, given that it would be a clear endorsement of his policies, and you are extremely popular with most of the -”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested in marrying for politics.” Her glance moved over him, appraisingly. “Or at all, really. Being who I am means that I can’t enjoy such domestic pleasures.”

Taking a sip of wine and tugging her closer, Edmont asked, “What were you expecting to find, when you came back to Ishgard, my dear?”

(Y/N) moved into his lap, and laid her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know. This house is one of the few places where I have felt _safe_.” She laughed at herself softly. “I used to imagine you adopting me, giving up my adventuring days and calling you ‘Papa’. Letting someone else take care of me for a change.” Her hair bounced slightly as she shook her head. “But I don’t get that luxury, either.”

That word, _Papa_, worked an unexpected change in him, and Edmont’s fingers tightened on the wine glass in his hand. He could see it too clearly in his mind’s eye: her face, tilted up towards his, flushed with pleasure, whispering it as fervently as a prayer. (Y/N) could not fail to notice, either, from her perch atop him, and her playful giggle told him she had.

“I could take care of you,” Edmont ventured, setting the wine glass aside and putting his hands on her bodice. “I am too old to go out into the field and fight at your side, as I would have offered thirty years ago. But this home can be your safe harbor, if you want it.” She turned, straddling his lap, and he could feel the heat of her beneath the endless layers of linen and silk. “Within the walls of this manor, you don’t have to be the Warrior of Light. You can rely on me, (Y/N). You can relax. You can, if you like, be nothing more than an old man’s spoiled pet.” 

"Spoiled, hmm?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned close. "I should warn you, Papa." He felt his cock straining against his pants as her breath brushed his ear. "I can be very selfish."

"Tell me what you want, pet," Edmont whispered, his voice thick with longing he had given up on hiding. 

(Y/N) bit her lower lip and giggled. "I want you to make me feel good." She tugged at the laces of his doublet where they peeked above his sugarcoat. "I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name."

Edmont looked up at her and chuckled. "Well, aren't you a demanding little brat?" With his hands on her back, he pulled her down for a kiss. When they broke apart he grinned. "Though I am half-tempted to take you over my knee for using such unladylike language."

Her cheeks flushed. "You wouldn't _dare._"

"Wouldn't I?" He reached over to the desk and grasped the end of his letter opener. Her eyes became wary at the sight of the blade, and he paused. "(Y/N), I promise you. I will never harm you seriously. I may spank you and toy with you, but I will not harm a hair on your head. I want your laughter, not tears."

"Then why do you need that?" She still watched the letter opener warily.

Edmont chuckled. "Because I am past sixty and have arthritis. As beautiful as you are, especially in such fine clothes, unlacing your bodice and corset would leave my hands too sore to play with you for days." He found the laces with his fingers in the center of her back. "I swear, I will never _hurt_ you, (Y/N)."

When she remained still and did not object, Edmont slid the letter opener in between the laces of her bodice and tugged, causing the whole ensemble to give way at once, sliding off her shoulders and into his lap, revealing she had chosen _not_ to wear undergarments or a chemise. "Licentious little thing you are, pet."

The letter opener joined the wine glass on the table, and for a moment he was paralyzed by the possibilities. He wanted to do _everything_, both with her and to her, but he was not sure where to start. He let his fingers explore her torso while he pondered the problem, watching her reactions. 

"The desk," Edmont said aloud, having decided. "I don't think either of us will make it to my bedchamber in this state, a fact I shall have to keep in mind when seducing you in the future." He moved his hands down to her waist, clutching at the dress. “Go on, then, pet.”

(Y/N) laughed and climbed out of the gown, giving him a lascivious view of her legs, thighs, and the delights he would find betwixt them. She took a few steps away, then leaned on the edge of his desk. “If you want me, Papa, come and get me.”

Edmont didn’t need to be told twice. He pulled himself to his feet, removing his surcoat and doublet with the help of hidden snaps along the back, until he wore naught but his pants and shift, then crossed to the desk, leaning heavily upon it with one hand while his other found its way into her hair and pulled her close for another kiss. “My darling,” he whispered, moving his lips to her neck, “my lady,” his lips trailed up to her earlobe, “my dearest,” he tightened his grip on her hair, tilting her head back, and her cheeks flushed. “My pet,” he placed his other hand on her chest, and guided her down until she was lying back on his desk, amongst scattered books and papers. He leaned down and kissed her stomach just below her navel. “I’m going to have you now.”

(Y/N) giggled in delight. “Yes, Papa,” she said, and spread her legs, hooking one of them over his hip to pull him forward, causing him to stumble just a bit.

“Kitten, let me handle my pants first. Greedy thing,” he chided, unbuckling his belt and tugging his pants down just far enough to let his cock spring free, before tugging off his leather gloves with his teeth and dropping them beside her on the desk. “Now, where were we?” 

Edmont placed one hand on her breast, and slipped the other between the lips of her sex, rubbing (Y/N)’s clitoris gently. She gasped and writhed beneath him, but he kept working until she arched her back, her skin flushed, and panted for him, alternating between “Edmont” and “Papa” in desperation. He was momentarily startled to hear a sharp crack, and saw in her ardor she had gripped the bevel at the edge of his desk too hard, cracking away a sliver of wood. _Oh, Halone,_ he thought, _she is going to be the delight of my life._

“That’s my good girl,” he crooned, gently, before using his hand, slick with her juices, to guide himself inside her. (Y/N) wrapped both legs around him and pulled him close, her hands catching at his sleeves as he braced himself on the desk and began thrusting into her, using his good leg for leverage and his bad leg for balance. She giggled in delight beneath him, and when she decided to slide one hand to her clitoris herself, it only inflamed him further. She quickly reached her second climax, and he lost himself to his own orgasm amidst the furious storm of gasps, sighs, and her vagina rippling around him. 

When Edmont’s mind came back to him, she was stroking his hair gently, her thumb tracing the shell of his ear, lingering for a moment on the point of it with each pass. He sighed. “Come, dearest. Let’s go to bed.” He was sore, terribly sore, but he did not regret it in the slightest. He merely helped her into what remained of her gown, then offered his coat to hide the way it gapped in the back, now that the laces were tiny shreds on the floor. “The staff will handle the rest,” he whispered as he tucked away his member and refastened his pants. 

He took her hand and led her into the hallway, and was surprised when she turned to go back downstairs. “Where are you going?” 

“To my rooms…” she said, in confusion. “You said we should go to bed.”

Edmont glanced at the guard at the end of the hall out of the corner of his eye, and sighed. Propriety would dictate that she return to her rooms and have the staff return the coat discreetly. _No,_ he decided, in that instant, _It seems everyone in this Halone-forsaken manor will be getting a raise in the interests of discretion._ He turned himself back to her. “No, my pet. Your place is with me.” He held out a hand, hopefully, and after a moment, she smiled, and took it.

Later that night, after his energy had come back a little, and he’d had her a second time, on his lap in bed so that his back could rest, he stroked her back softly. “Let me buy you something,” he whispered. 

(Y/N) laughed, “What?”

“You heard me, pet. I want to spoil you, for being so well behaved.” Edmont’s voice was light and teasing, and he rolled onto his side, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Tell me what you’d like.”

She thought for a moment. “I don’t know. I don’t usually buy myself frivolous things.” Her cheeks flushed. “So buy me something frivolous. Something I would never get myself.”

“What do we say?” he chided, in a playfully patronizing tone.

“Please, Papa,” she replied, fluttering her eyelashes and giggling.

“Good girl.”

* * *

The next morning, while his lover slept, Edmont gave a few orders to his household regarding the change in Lady (Y/N)’s status. Anything she requested or required was to be given without question. Her things were to be moved to his late wife’s chambers, in his wing. Everyone would be receiving a sizable raise, in exchange for their silence in regards to the dalliance between himself and the new Lady of the manor. 

Afterward, he and Firmien headed to the Jeweled Crozier, again. Firmien, to purchase supplies for the household, and coordinate with the Master of the Merchants to ensure that word got around - all of Lady (Y/N)’s purchases were to be billed to House Fortemps. Meanwhile, Edmont headed to a small shop, property of a young Miss Seghuie, known for her skill with jewels.

When he entered, she curtsied. “L-Lord de Fortemps! What a surprising honor!” She began attempting to clear up her work station, and he stood in silence, giving her time to compose herself while he looked around. After a moment, she approached, and curtsied again. “Is there something specific I can help you with, my lord?”

Edmont smiled down to the young girl. “What do you have in the way of jeweled collars?”


	4. Process of Elimination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont returns to discover the Lord Speaker has dropped by for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, this chapter amused me. In general, this fic is fun to write as the chapters are short. Our darling (Y/N) should be back next chapter! This chapter also has some echoes of the plot being used for my much larger, still-in-development Aymeric/WOL fic.

Edmont strolled through the streets of Ishgard, unusually pleased with himself, despite the way he ached. He had taken a new mistress, the first in ages, and (Y/N) was absolutely delightful. He’d spent a fortune on her today, and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction to both the small gift tucked into his coat pocket, and the more scandalous things he had commissioned from Miss Seghuie. He had not even known they _could_ make ladies’ underthings from jewels.

His initial pleasure faded as he approached the manor, irritated to see a handful of those blue-robed cultists lingering about, looking longingly toward the doors, whispering about Halone. That irritation only grew when he entered, and one of the serving men bowed. “Lord Aymeric de Borel is here to see you, sir.”

_Aymeric._ He had just been turned down when proposing to (Y/N) the day before. _Oh gods, is the poor boy besotted with her?_ Edmont could see it in his mind, the Lord Speaker here to beg him to intercede on his behalf, the awkwardness when he must refuse the boy’s request.

Still, Edmont shook his head and entered the parlor, where Lord Aymeric waited, hands clasped behind his back by the Fire. At the sound of the door, the boy turned, and smiled softly. “Count Edmont, thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

“It’s Lord Edmont, now, Lord Speaker,” he chided softly. “If you wish to speak with the Count you’ll have to wait until my son returns from Ala Mhigo.”

“You may have handed the title over to Artoirel, sir, but you and I both know who rules House Fortemps.” Aymeric’s smile was charming. “I’ve come to speak to you about two matters. One personal, and one public.”

“Please,” Edmont said, gesturing to one of the chairs near the fire. “Sit.” He took the other chair, and wave one hand towards Firmien. “It’s a bit early for scotch. Would you like some tea?”

“Tea would be lovely,” Aymeric agreed, sitting awkwardly in the plush chair.

They made small talk for a few moments, speaking lightly of balls and politics, until Firmien offered each of them a teacup. Once they’d had a sip, the old etiquette of hospitality offered and accepted, Aymeric said, “Which matter would you hear first, Lord Edmont. The personal, or the public?”

“The public, for I fear I know what the personal may be,” he replied, and took another sip, watching the boy wince.

“This Cult of Halone’s Light, as they’ve taken to calling themselves, has suddenly become much more active. While until recently they’ve mostly kept to the Brume and the Crozier, after (Y/N)’s return to the city the night before last, their numbers seem to have virtually exploded.” He took another sip, “or, more likely, they’ve ceased hiding their numbers, and walk the city freely, hoping to spot her. Have you noticed this as well?”

“Yes,” Edmont agreed. “Yesterday one of them spoke with me, and corrected me when I did not call her _Halone_. Then today as I returned from my morning walk, I saw a few of them loitering outside the manor.”

Aymeric tapped his chin. “Yes. I am concerned that may be a problem.” He looked down at the teacup in his hands. “I know that (Y/N) would be insulted if I ordered her to be escorted by the Temple Knights anywhere she went, but I worry they might become importuning towards her if given the opportunity. I had hoped she might object less to knights of House Fortemps?”

“I will speak with her, but she is a willful child,” Edmont supplied, and took his own sip, letting the bitter tannins linger on his tongue for a moment. “I cannot promise anything, but I will endeavor to convince her to be circumspect in this matter.”

Relaxing slightly, Aymeric sighed. “Thank you.”

After a moment’s pause, Edmont turned to him. _Might as well get this out of the way._ “You said there was a more private matter you wished to address as well?”

“Yes,” Aymeric replied, looking decidedly uncomfortable. _Good,_ Edmont thought. _I shan’t be the only one._ “As you may have been told, yesterday I asked Lady (Y/N) for her hand in marriage.” He glanced toward the fire, and his face seemed almost brooding. “She refused me.”

“I expected as much.” Edmont sipped his tea.

“Has she told you why?” Aymeric asked, his eyebrow raised.

“She gave me her reasons,” Edmont ventured, but did not elaborate.

“Would you tell me who it is?” The boy’s gaze was piercing as he leveled it at the old man. “I wish to know who I am competing with.”

“I…” Edmont furrowed his brow in confusion. “What, exactly, did she tell you? She told me she has no plans to marry at all, that her work as the Warrior of Light and a Scion of the Seventh Dawn is not conducive to a life of domesticity.”

Aymeric sighed. “She said that, and I told her I didn’t mind. I have servants enough to handle any household task a lady would be expected to do, but I need her public approval as a political bulwark.” He took a drink of tea. “Then she told me if I require her to make a speech or something, she’d be happy to, but she has ‘designs on another.’”

“Mayhap she meant merely as a paramour? That would be much more conducive to her lifestyle, when she could blow in and out of the city, like a winter, wind as she pleased?” Edmont could see the Lord Speaker was clearly distressed. For all his talk of politics, he was raving like a man in love.

“I asked the same. Though I swore to myself as a child I would not take a mistress so as to avoid the unfortunate circumstances of my own birth, the political reality requires that I may have to make an exception.” Aymeric sighed, and leaned on the arm of the chair, his head balanced on his hand. “Only to have her tell me she would wed _him_ were he to ask. She said the political machinations were specifically something she hoped to avoid, and the one she was _involved_ with had ‘No future within the political arena.’”

“I see,” Edmont replied, and stared hard at his teacup, lost in memories of her teasing smiles, the taste of brandy, and shy blushes. _Safe Harbor, indeed._

“I had hoped you might know who he was, that I might meet with him and impress upon him how important this is for Ishgard,” Aymeric frowned. “But you truly have no idea?”

“A number of candidates come to mind,” Edmont said, “But she has not gone to see anyone outside of this house save you since her arrival.”

Aymeric’s head shot up. “That’s it!”

“W-what?” Edmont’s eyes widened, and he was momentarily concerned their tryst had been discovered. 

“I’ve just realized who it is. Someone without a real political future, who would not mind a wife who breezes in and out as she so chooses, who would expect no responsibility. Someone who suddenly returned to Ishgard just as soon as she did.” The Lord Speaker pinned him with his gaze. “I think (Y/N) is having an affair with your son, Emmanellain.”

Edmont nearly snorted his tea.


	5. Tea Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmanellain and Edmont have an argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go lovelies. Something quick before I begin my evening chores.

>   
When you retire for the evening, wear this, and nothing else. I will come find you.
> 
> -E  


  
Edmont set the small black-flocked box on (Y/N)’s bedside table with the note, and a single gardenia blossom, sure to catch her attention.

“You know that I could do that for you, sir,” one of the housemaids said, bringing some of (Y/N)’s gowns from her old chambers in the children’s wing.

“You could, and sometime I may ask for your assistance. But there is great joy in doing these things oneself,” he chuckled. “But I must away to tea with Emmanellain and Lady (Y/N).”

The maid bobbed a quick curtsey as he left, and he did not see the way she stood stock still, listening for the click of his cane to fade as it descended the steps. 

He did not see the way she climbed up onto the windowsill, to give herself better access to the top of the ancient armoire.

He did not see the crystals she hid there, or any of the others, tucked away in dark corners and unnoticed edges.

He did not hear her whisper, “Soon, Halone.” 

* * *

Emmanellain was blushing furiously, unable to look up at either his father or (Y/N).

“Emmanellain, what’s wrong?” she asked, leaning her head on her hand.

Edmont chuckled. “He figured it out last night, my dear.” It was her turn to blush, and Edmont delighted in the soft pink cast it lent to her cheeks. “Emmanellain, don’t be so sulky. We all have our… proclivities. If I had known that you were returning, I would have exercised more discretion.”

“Yes,” the boy glowered. “But you’re not supposed to take your _mistress_ out in _polite_ society.” He gave (Y/N) a moody glare, and everyone at the table froze.

Honoroit found himself first, and sucked in a breath. A moment later, (Y/N) stood, but Edmont put a hand on her arm without taking his gaze from his son. At the moment, he was glad he had reserved the small gazebo table at the restaurant. He had intended for the discussion he _wanted_ to have to be kept private, but it seemed now the discussion he _needed_ to have would be private as well. _And thank Halone for that._

Wordlessly, Edmont tugged off one of his gloves, and threw it at Emmanellain. When his son looked up at him, shocked at the challenge, he said. “If you are going to say such things, Emmanellain, you should be prepared to defend them with your honor. (Y/N) is the Warrior of Light. She brought an end to the Dragonsong War. I daresay she may go and do whatever she damn well pleases within this city, after all that. And I am prepared to defend her right to do so.” He glanced at the woman beside him, but her grim face revealed nothing but intense displeasure.

“You’re sixty-three years old, Father. Even I could best you.” The boy rolled his eyes. “Take back your glove, and we’ll speak no more of it.”

“Edmont has the right,” (Y/N) said, her voice icy, “to name a champion to duel you in his stead. And as it just so happens, I’m in town.” She leaned over the table, and he saw a _change_ come over her. Muscles going taut as she braced herself, a too-wide rictus grin, her body lean and lithe and serpentine, nigh-Dravanian. To him, she had always been inviting, but for a moment, he saw what her enemies must - the clear _threat_.

“As am I.” 

Edmont snapped his head toward the voice, to see the Lord Speaker leaning against the latticework of the gazebo’s entrance. “I had heard you had reservations for tea here, and I had hoped to come make my case to the lady again.” Aymeric glanced at him, his face pensive. “But I see I misjudged the situation quite entirely.” He turned his gaze to (Y/N). “I don’t care about the dalliance, but I _need_ you. Ishgard needs you.”

“What about me?” (Y/N) asked, straightening. “What about what _I_ need? Let me make myself unambiguously clear: I have no intention of ending my relationship with Edmont, regardless of what anyone thinks. I have no intention of marrying you, Aymeric, regardless of what you believe Ishgard needs. And I have no intention of letting you _duel your son_, Edmont. Haurchefant would be cross with all three of you, but especially you two,” Edmont breathed a quiet sigh of relief when she fixed the two younger men with a steely gaze. “Emmanellain - your father is the only person in all of the Source that has given a damn about what I want since Haurchefant’s death. I am not going to give that up because it does not meet with your ideas of Ishgardian propriety. And need I remind you both, despite the fact that I visit the city from time to time, I am _not_ Ishgardian. A fact that was made abundantly clear to me, again and again, when the Eorzean Alliance came to Ishgard for help. When I had to fight and claw my way into the city. Haurchefant was the only one who stood behind me, even then.” 

(Y/N) reached across the table and plucked his glove from before Emmanellain, and handed it back to him, and Edmont took it, thoroughly admonished. “I am going back to House Fortemps.”

She lifted one hand, and curled it before her chest in silent prayer, and was gone, leaving the three men in awkward silence.

Aymeric sighed. “I hate it when she does that.”

Edmont glanced down at his teacup. “(Y/N) was quite angry.”

Emmanellain sulked. “Haurchefant wouldn’t be angry with me.”

“No,” Aymeric agreed, “Just thoroughly disappointed. He was a child of your father’s previous mistress, lest you forget, and a large portion of his early life was spent dealing with his own mother’s mistreatment. He would be sad to see you perpetuate that.” The Lord Speaker turned his eyes back to Edmont. “Are you going to marry her?”

“W-what?” Edmont froze. “I…” 

It seemed Aymeric was just as bad as (Y/N) was, when he wanted to be. “I told you this morning. She does hope to one day marry the man she turned me down for. If she is marrying for love, then I will stand aside, out of respect for her happiness. But until an official announcement lands on my desk, I intend to pursue her, for the good of Ishgard.” The Lord Speaker’s mouth curled into a vicious smirk. “She may not be Ishgardian, but _I_ am, and I will continue to act in our people’s best interest.” He turned, and walked away, leaving Edmont alone with his son.

* * *

An hour before dinner, Edmont found himself standing outside of (Y/N)’s new rooms, that had once belonged to his late wife, a thousand apologies on his lips. He had behaved rudely at tea, and gotten into an argument with his son about her in front of her. Emmanellain would have his own, more important apologies to make, but he could not come to her rooms at night in good conscience without having delivered a sincere apology in the light of day.

“You can go in, you know?” (Y/N) said, behind him, and he nearly collapsed from the shock. 

“M-my dear…” He turned to face her, and she giggled. “I came to apologize for my atrocious -” She breezed past him, pushing open the door as he spoke. “ - behavior. I did not act in a manner befitting -” (Y/N) took his hand, and pulled him inside after her. “ - any gentleman, much less one who hopes to curry and maintain your favor. You were quite right at -” She shut the door behind him. “ - tea when you so thoroughly admonished the Lord Speaker, Emmanellain, and I for -” She pushed him back against the door, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

When she pulled away and settled back onto her heels, he remained silent, anxious and unsure of what to do. (Y/N) laughed. “If you’re truly remorseful, Papa, I’m sure you can think of a way to make it up to me.”

That word, _Papa_ got beneath his skin. “Pet, we only have an hour until dinner.”

“Good thing I’m not wearing anything beneath my gown, then. We can save you the time undressing me.”

Edmont swallowed, and tucked the end of his cane beneath her skirts, lifting them slowly to reveal she had not lied to him. “I… suppose I can spare a little time.”

“Suppose, Papa?” (Y/N)’s eyes glittered with mischief. “Aren’t you the one apologizing to me?”

He laughed. “Just so, pet.” Then he pushed her towards the bed.


	6. Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont prays.

Edmont stood in his study, lighting candles. 

One for Artoirel, that he distinguish himself well in Ala Mhigo.

One for Emmanellain, that he grows into a good man, and learn some responsibility.

One for Haurchefant, that he might know joy and peace in the hereafter.

One for his late wife, that her petty jealousies and anger might be soothed in the peace of Halone’s grace.

His hand froze as it hovered over the candle for Haurchefant’s mother, the first woman he had ever _loved_. “What would you think of me now?” he whispered, as if she could hear him. “I…” Though his grief for her was a distant ache, one he knew well, he still wondered if she would approve or disapprove of him taking another lover. He believed, truly, she would have liked (Y/N). They were so similar, and yet so different. Both had passions that burned with an intensity to blot out the sun, but where she had been made of paper, and consumed just as quickly by her own internal flames, the Warrior of Light seemed to be the fire itself, consuming all in her path to fuel her.

Edmont sighed and lit the candle, that she might not find fault with his choices as she watched over him.

The last candle, as ever, for (Y/N) herself. He was mildly amused that she was always the last candle. She had been for years, long before he realized his desires. Yet he must have known what he wanted, subconsciously, to place her last. To have her be the last he thought of before he retired for the night. He closed his eyes. What did he want for her now? Before it had been easy. Her safe return. He had thought his affections paternal, but for all they played with that boundary, he could not lie and say he considered her a child any longer. 

His heart hurt, and he leaned on his cane for a moment, closing his eyes. He thought about what Aymeric had said - that (Y/N) had turned him down in favor of the man she wanted to be with. That she would marry him, if he asked. What did that mean? What was she looking for? He had nothing to offer her. She was four decades his junior, of an age with his youngest child. He could no more strap on his armor and follow her into adventure than he could expect her to give it all up and remain in Ishgard.

Maybe (Y/N) would be happier with Aymeric. A younger man, with power and position and still able to fight at her side. He had already led the Temple Knights into battle at her side, in the Dragonsong War, and the Ala Mhigan revolution. The people of Ishgard would see their marriage as a natural and happy progression. They could fight together, laugh together, and grow old together. 

Edmont acknowledged that he was already old. He would pass away, and she would still have half a lifetime ahead of her. If she resigned herself to him, what would be left for her? Emmanellain’s sneers and Artoirel’s pity? And if he married her, like Aymeric said she wanted, what then? She would be the widow of a disgraced nobleman. Her children, if they had any, would have nothing but his name. 

That thought brought him up short. Children. What if she bore him another child? Another illegitimate son? Could he do that again? Would Haurchefant forgive him for that? There was no Countess de Fortemps to stand against another child, but did he have that right, after all the sorrow his initial carelessness had caused? Edmont’s mind began to go in circles, back and forth with would-haves and what-ifs, only broken when the lighting taper in his hand had burnt down to his fingers, and the sudden shock of pain tore him from it. He hissed a curse.

“Edmont?” 

He turned to find her there, in the doorway to his study, concern on her young face, beautiful in the candlelight catching the soft organza of her gown. She moved toward him, gracefully, and put her hand on his. A spark of aether, and the pain was gone. She pulled his now-healed fingers to her lips, and kissed them gently. “What’s wrong, Edmont?”

He laughed ruefully. “Reminiscing on my many sins.”

“Aah,” (Y/N) said. She did not release his hand. “I am here, if you want to talk.”

“No, I think not.” He shook his head. “I have made too many mistakes in my day, and buried them in politics and time.”

She leaned on his shoulder, lightly, and he could smell the edges of her perfume, soft notes of vanilla. “In my time in Ishgard, I have seen many view Halone as a goddess of strictures - upright behavior and retribution for those who disobey. I don’t think I could ever follow a god like that. It should not hurt to be faithful.”

“Then what faith do you profess?” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her closer, even though it damned him in the eyes of so many. His eyes landed on the unlit candle.

“I follow Hydaelyn.” (Y/N) said, and he looked down at her, her soft hair, her closed eyes, the curve of her shoulder.

“Even now that you know…” He did not want to pick at the wound of the First.

“Even now.” She looked up at him. “Hydaelyn is the goddess of second chances. We _all_ deserve to try again.” (Y/N) smiled then. “Even you. I have met real monsters, and real sinners, Edmont. You are neither.”

He brushed his hand lightly over her hair. “I feel like a thief when I look at you. I am trying to claim the best years of your life in my twilight. I’m stealing all your tomorrows for my todays.”

“You worry about what will happen to me when I am fifty and alone, after you’ve passed on.” Her hand went to his cheek. “Think about what you are saying, and think about who I am. Do you really believe I will see fifty?”

Fear and protectiveness ripped through him, and he leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers. “Don’t say things like that. You’re young. You have so much ahead of you. You -”

(Y/N) tilted her head and kissed him, sweet and warm and inviting, then pulled away. “I chose this, Edmont. I am choosing this again, right now. And I will continue to choose this, to choose you, until I can’t anymore. Maybe it will be because you’ve passed on. Maybe you will tire of me. Maybe I will die in a battle next week. Who knows? None of those tomorrows you think you are stealing are guaranteed, so I will take my chances with today.”

She stepped away then, and turned to head out the door.

“(Y/N), wait.” He said, and followed after her, his cane making soft _thups_ on the carpet with each step, until he was beside her again. Her eyes were large and luminous when she looked up at him, and he could feel himself falling into them, even as he leaned close and kissed her again. “I don’t know where this is going, yet. I don’t know anything. You make me feel the fool every time I try. But, I beg you: let me keep trying, until I make sense of it.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I don’t know what is wrong with me these days. I don’t know what I am feeling. Haurchefant’s mother -” He closed his eyes again. “It was never like this with her. I am a coward. I am afraid - of you, for you, I don’t know. I don’t know anything, and it paralyzes me.” He clutched her shoulder, his thumb resting on her collarbone, and stroked her skin softly. “But if you’ll have me, then I will keep fighting. That’s all a knight can do.”

Her smile was radiant. “I’m going to bed, Edmont.” She nodded towards his last unlit candle. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

He let her go, then, watching her vanish into the hallway, before making his way back towards the small shrine. He lit another taper, and lit the last candle. 

_For (Y/N),_ he prayed, _that she might find all the love she seeks with me._


	7. Enough (EX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont heads to (Y/N)'s bedroom, and startles her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emotional sex whoo! Next chapter the plot will pick up again. lmao.

The moon hung low over the city when Edmont quietly pushed open the door to (Y/N)’s new chambers. He found her within, fast asleep, just as he’d requested - nude, save for the diamond collar with a row of alternating onyx and rubies. None who saw it could fail to recognize the colors of his house, to know to whom she belonged. 

(Y/N) made a soft whimper, and rolled over in her sleep, exposing the curve of her breasts to the moonlight, and his hungry gaze. He made his way to her bedside, yearning for a better view, but the tip of his cane caught a gap between the rugs, striking directly on the wood floor.

In immediate response, her entire body went ridgid, her eyes snapping about the room, searching for a threat, in the same manner common to knights who had served too long. His heart ached in his chest at the realization. His father had suffered the same affliction, sharp noises and sudden flashes could instigate unexpected bouts of terror, even when they were perfectly safe, so sharp were the memories of war ingrained upon them.

“It is all right, my dearest,” Edmont whispered, and placed his hand gently on the soft skin of her stomach. “My darling, I’m right here.”

“E-Edmont,” (Y/N) murmured, and she placed a hand over his, smiling weakly. The flush of sleep still clung to her cheeks. “You startled me.”

“My apologies, sweetling.” He smiled affectionately. “Do you want me to let you sleep? Or would you like some company until you feel safe again?”

“Stay with me,” she whispered, and gave his hand a little tug.

He laughed. “Do you mind if I get more comfortable first?” At her nod, Edmont pulled off his coat, tossing it over the large chest at the foot of her bed, then started on the buttons of his doublet. (Y/N) scooted closer to the edge of the bed, sliding her hands beneath the doublet to tug at the lacings of his trousers. Between the two of them, they got him stripped down to his shirt, and he tugged the blankets back, crawling between the creamy, ivory-colored sheets with her.

For a moment, (Y/N) stayed on the far side of the bed, but his whispered, “Come here,” brought her closer, and soon he was pressing her slight form against his chest, the soft fabric of his shirt the only protection against the heat of her skin. 

“You are perfectly safe, my dear. You are safe in bed, in Fortemps Manor, in Ishgard.” Edmont kissed her forehead, and brushed her hair out of her face. “No one can harm you here. Not while the knights of the house are on guard, not while the walls of Ishgard still stand, not while _I_ still stand, for what little that is worth.” He chuckled.

“You don’t need to get yourself killed on my account,” she grumbled, and snaked one of her arms around him. “I’m just remembering terrible things.”

Edmont was quiet for a long time, letting her hold him for comfort. When she finally seemed calm again, he asked, “Is that why you want this? For the safety?” It was not an unreasonable thought, and would explain why she refused Aymeric. 

(Y/N) trembled against his chest, and he felt hot tears soak into his shirt. "I just want to be done. I- I have done _enough._" She cried harder, twisting the fabric in her fists. "When do I get to be saved? When do I get to let go and actually enjoy my life, rather than constantly fighting?" 

Edmont clutched her tightly while she railed against fate. "I have fought so hard and saved so many, but the Ascians are still out there. They only have to succeed at the rejoining six more times. Ever." Her breath came in ragged gasps. "But I will have to be on guard for the rest of my life, and stop every attempt. And then I will die and they will succeed anyway, because I am Hydaelyn's chosen, and no one else will step up to take this burden."

She broke down again, her words lost in wracking sobs for a few minutes, and he held her through it, refusing to abandon her in her hour of need. "I don't want to marry Aymeric because he wants to marry the Warrior of Light, not…"

"Not (Y/N)," he finished for her, and roughly pulled her up, crushing his lips to her own. She tasted of salty tears and terror, but he kissed her regardless, in some desperate hope that he could ease her fears. 

After a few moments, when she lowered her head to rest on his shoulder, she asked, "What are you thinking?"

Edmont rested his head on hers. "I think you are having an unnecessary crisis of faith, my darling." He chuckled when she looked at him, all offense and indignation, but continued. "You blame Hydaelyn for choosing you, but don't follow your understanding of Her to its logical conclusion. You said so yourself - Hydaelyn is the Goddess of Second Chances. Everyone deserves the chance to try again. Even us."

He kissed (Y/N) again, rolling both of them so he was atop her. "You and I both need a second chance to be happy, my pet. And somehow, we find ourselves in each other's arms, in need of the same thing. If you ask me, you are Hydaelyn's chosen still, enacting Her will in a different way, saving the most precious part of the Source: yourself."

She stared up at him, her cheeks flushed, and bit her lip, and he laughed. "Let me love you, (Y/N), and I will endeavor to be worthy."

"Edmont…" She murmured, and tugged his shirt off, tossing it out of the bed. "I want this, with you." Her blush made his heart flutter in his chest. 

Rather than respond verbally, he reached between their legs, finding his member, swollen and yearning, and guided it into her. She lifted herself to meet him and he groaned in delight. "(Y/N)...." he kissed her and pressed further, going as deep as he could, losing himself in her burning flesh. "Oh, Gods, (Y/N)."

"Edmont," she gasped, and he braced himself, thrusting in and bottoming out inside her, again and again, giving himself permission to want her, to need her, to love her, even if no one else approved. 

Her body responded to every touch, offering up everything for his delight, and he took all that he could, desperately greedy for her in a maddening way. He realized he wanted all of her, not just for lust and distraction, but to have and to keep, all the rest of his life. 

When he could bear no more, he allowed himself to climax, pressing himself against the furthest wall of her vagina and groaning as he left a sticky mess inside her. The thought of it, that he had left evidence of himself in the most intimate part of (Y/N), so deep that none could claw him out, was almost enough to spur him on for more, but age and exhaustion cooled his ardor, regardless of his mind's arousal. 

Still, when he rolled off of her, he reached down and pleasured her with his fingers, brushing yearning kisses over her neck, shoulders, and breasts, while she writhed beside him, until her body went rigid with pleasure and her gasps turned into a single continuous moan.

She finally relaxed, and he pulled the sheets and blankets up higher, shielding the two of them away from the rest of the world. There, in that tiny cocoon of darkness, he kissed her, and murmured, “I love you, (Y/N).”

* * *

The next morning, Lord Edmont de Fortemps left his mistress’s chambers, and went to his study, where he ensconced himself for a few hours. When he emerged, he carried a letter, sealed with his personal signet, down the stairs, and gave it to Firmien, with strict instructions for it to be delivered to his son, the Count de Fortemps, at Ala Mhigo. 

Firmien, in turn, handed the letter to a page, and commanded him to take it to the Airship Docks, to have it sent off, and gave the boy a few coins for the postage. The page left House Fortemps, and took a bit of a detour, heading to the Brume, where he entered a ramshackle old tavern. Inside, he found the woman he was looking for, with long, dark hair, and a pale blue robe - one of the members of that new cult of Halone.

“He’s sending this to the Count,” the boy said, holding out the letter.

The cultist pulled a slim knife from her belongings, and heated it over the candle on the table before her, then slid it, carefully, between the panels of the envelope, opening the letter without disturbing the fine seal. She took out the contents, and read:

> _My dear Artoirel,_
> 
> _I hope this letter finds you well, and that you have found many victories in Ala Mhigo. I know your time is precious, so I will be brief - things have happened here, and I have learned much and more about both myself and (Y/N). _
> 
> _There is no easy way to say this, but the long and short of it is that I have decided to take her to wife, and though I am your father, _YOU_ are the Count de Fortemps, and I will not do her the disservice of doing this improperly. _
> 
> _I politely request that you, as the head of House Fortemps, give your consent to the match._
> 
> _Yes, I have considered the fact that she is two score years my junior._
> 
> _Yes, I am aware that others may have more political designs on her._
> 
> _Yes, I am aware that very few people will approve._
> 
> _Yes, I love her._
> 
> _If you have further questions, or wish to give your consent, I look forward to receiving your letter. Otherwise, it has been a very long time since you have returned home, and I would be happy to discuss this in person._
> 
> _With paternal affection,_
> 
> _Lord Edmont de Fortemps_  
  


The cultist tapped her fingers on the table, then carefully heated the knife again, pressing it into the wax so it would seal itself back together, then pulling it out. Anyone who looked closely could see it had been opened, but as the letter was going to a war front, she wasn’t too concerned.

“Go ahead and send it. I’ll handle the rest.”


	8. The Haillenarte Ball, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont receives an invitation to a ball, and decides to bring his Mistress along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha hope you guys like it!

Edmont waited anxiously for Artoirel’s reply, but still took time to enjoy his time with (Y/N). They spent every night together, locked in passionate bliss until sleep claimed them, and woke together, before separating to go about their days. From what the knights he’d assigned to her protection told him, she often went to call upon her Ishgardian friends, then take a walk through Foundation. In the afternoons, unless she had other plans, she would read until supper, and they would dine together.

His own days were as blessedly simple, with the morning dedicated to a brisk walk (usually to the Jeweled Crozier, to find some new and interesting gift for his (Y/N)), before a quiet luncheon, then attending to the more dismal matters of managing House Fortemps. There were budgets, ledgers, requests from distant relatives, interviews with various servants, so on and so forth to be handled, and while he knew Artoirel _could_ handle it, it gave him something to do besides moon over his lover.

A month after he’d sent the letter, he was surprised to find an invitation amongst his belongings. The Count de Haillenarte was going to be having a ball to celebrate the debut of his youngest child, a girl by the name of Lisette, and their sons, Francel and Haurchefant, had been dear friends before the latter’s untimely passing.

He opened the envelope carefully, to send his regrets, but froze when he saw how it was addressed:

Lord Edmont de Fortemps and Guest

Chuckling, he drummed his hands on his desk, and looked at his calendar. He did not have plans for the listed date, three weeks hence. Nor did he have an objection to a ball per _se_, but he was surprised at the addition of the guest, so he investigated further.

On the back of the invitation card itself, the Count had scrawled a few words.

_Ed, heard you have a new poppet. Bring her out for a little fun for a change you old stodger._

_-Reynaud_

And so it was at dinner that evening, he worked up the courage and asked if she’d like to attend with him, and the next morning he replied in the affirmative, with a strange fluttering in his heart. He was finally going to go public with their romance, Halone help them both, and there was so much to do - make sure she had a gown, make sure she knew how to dance, buy her something new for the evening. It didn’t help that she was so openly flirtatious when they were alone that he could barely concentrate. The minx would be the death of him, and he would enjoy every second.

* * *

“You will _behave_ for the seamstress, (Y/N),” he said in exasperation. “She’ll be here any moment.”

“Firmien can distract her for us, Papa,” She murmured, snaking her hands beneath his surcoat to his doublet, finding the hidden snaps and popping one open, letting her fingers brush the shirt beneath.

“Halone,” he breathed as her lips trailed around his neck, “I should never have shown you those bloody snaps.” She had learned how easy it was to undress him, with his clothing modified for his arthritis, and the witch took full advantage whenever she had the chance. “You’re insatiable, (Y/N), and while I normally enjoy that, if you want to go with me to this ball, you will keep control of yourself while working with the seamstress. Do you understand me, pet?”

She slid away from him, and gave him that playful smirk that meant she intended to cause mischief, but he caught the back of her bodice and turned her to face him. “I said,” he tossed his cane up slightly, catching it along the shaft, and pressed the head of it under her chin, forcing her head up to look at him. “Do you understand me?”

Edmont was rewarded for his commanding tone with a riotous blush, and she smiled sweetly. “Yes, Papa.”

When the seamstress _did_ finally arrive, Edmont immediately absconded, heading out into the yard to watch two knights spar, and clear his head.

* * *

Something was eating away at Edmont as he helped (Y/N) into the carriage, but he couldn’t place his finger on what. Everything about her was impeccable, and he could find no other outward signs… It was like he had begun a prayer but hadn’t finished it. Something was incomplete. Still, tonight was important, so he shook his head and banished the thought. He would worry over it later.

“Have you ever been to a ball, my lady?” He asked once she was settled across from him. The footman shut the door, and a moment later they rattled into motion.

“Once or twice, but not… with someone.” She blushed a little, and drew the folding fan he’d bought her - imported from Doma, with little suns and moons painted on its silk - across her cheek. “Is there something special I must do?”

He smiled slightly, an acknowledgement of the message. It seems the Echo she spoke of would even grant her knowledge of the language of fans as well. “It would be seen as rude for you to dance with anyone else more than you dance with me. That being said, given my infirmity,” He tapped his bad leg idly, “So long as you come and sit with me, it would count as a dance. I hope it’s not _dreadfully_ boring.”

(Y/N) laughed. “I think it won’t be boring at all.” That smirk, again, and he knew she meant mischief. “Will I know anyone there?”

“You’ve met Francel, as I recall,” She nodded in confirmation, so he continued, “And it is likely that much of the nobility will be there, including Sir Aymeric.” Edmont sighed. “He will likely ask you to dance, as he has yet to give up his pursuit of you, and it would be rude of you to refuse him all night. I would suggest dancing with him once, so he cannot say he was slighted, then do as you will.”

Something changed in her demeanor, and she closed the fan slowly, then leaned toward him, tilting the fan toward him as if it were an offer. “Would you be upset if I danced with Aymeric, Edmont?”

He let his eyes trail up from the fan, along her arm to her exposed shoulders, then her face. “Who are you asking? Lord Edmont de Fortemps? Or your lover?”

She leaned back, and looked out the window. “Aren’t they the same person?”

“Usually,” he replied. “But in this instance, the answers differ.”

(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. “Then I’m asking both, and I want both answers.”

Edmont smirked. “As Lord Edmont de Fortemps, I give little care to whom you dance with, so long as you don’t shame us both by focusing too long on any individual.” He held out a hand to her, and she took it, tilting her head curiously, and he pulled her into his arms with a quick jerk. “As your lover, I hope the other men at the ball recognize the colors on that collar ‘round your throat, pet, and remember to whom you belong. And if I should catch you encouraging any of those lascivious scoundrels, you will answer to me when we return home.” 

He kissed her roughly, and she put her arms around him, but he shook his head. “Don’t think you can get out of this with a few winsome smiles, pet. While we’re at Haillenarte manor I may be the height of propriety, and pretend not to notice your antics - but within the walls of House Fortemps there will be none to protect you from my wrath.” He kissed her again, scraping his teeth against her lips. “I have no intention of taking my eyes off you, but if you do somehow slip away, I may be forced to bend propriety.”

She grinned wickedly. “I’m already hoping I can get you to bend propriety.” She took his hand, and slid it along to the lace detail at the center-front of her bodice. Beneath the lace and beading, his fingers brushed up against something all-too familiar: the same metal snaps hidden within his own clothing. (Y/N) sat up in his lap, and whispered in his ear. “Edmont, I don’t want you to forget, tonight, while I’m talking, laughing, doing everything I do as the Warrior of Light, that all it will take is a firm grip and a flick of your wrist and you can have me as you like.”

Glancing out the window at the setting sun, he shook his head. “How dreadful, we’re going to be late.”

“Are we?” Her fingers were already sliding beneath his coat.

“Oh yes,” he lifted his cane and tapped twice on the roof - the sign to the driver to keep circling until he gave the signal again. “Quite late.” Then he began undoing the snaps of her gown, one by one, and had her in the carriage.


	9. The Haillenarte Ball, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont and (Y/N) attend the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys like this chapter!

Reynaud nearly choked when he saw Edmont enter with the Warrior of Light on his arm, and approached the couple, all smiles. “Ed!”

The Lord de Fortemps turned from the servant at the door and clasped arms with the Count de Haillenarte. They had fought together when they were young, and some of that old battlefield camaraderie returned instantly. “Reyn! I must thank you for the invitation.”

“‘Twas my pleasure, but you really should have told me you were bringing the hero of the Dragonsong War.” He bowed politely to the woman on Edmont’s arm. “You must forgive our lack of proper welcome, Lady (Y/N). I thought Ed was going to bring his new mistress.”

(Y/N) coughed softly. “He did.”

Reynaud’s eyes widened for only a moment as he stood, and then he began thumping Edmont on the shoulder so hard that the latter had to lean on his cane for support. “The Warrior of Light! Edmont, you _dog!_ No wonder you’ve barely left your manor these last two months.” He smiled again at (Y/N). “You would already find great welcome in my home, my lady, but even moreso to know you’ve stolen the old hermit’s heart. Please, if there is anything me or mine can do to make you feel more welcome, you need only ask.” He kissed her cheek politely, thumped Edmont one more time, then vanished into the crowd.

“I have to admit… I wasn’t expecting such a warm welcome.” (Y/N) glanced to Edmont. “I was under the impression that being your mistress would make people dislike me.”

“Why would you think that?” He led her into the ballroom, where couples were already beginning to take the floor.

She glanced aside a moment, then said under her breath. “The way Haurchefant spoke of his mother.”

Edmont froze, and closed his eyes a moment. _Of course,_ He thought. _How presumptuous of me to think she would only ever hear my side of that tragedy._ She had known Haurchefant, and he knew they had been close, but for a moment he wondered just _how_ close. The boy had always been rather quiet when the subject of his mother and his illegitimacy came up. What had the nature of their relationship been, if she had heard his son’s version of the tale? “(Y/N)...” Edmont began, but she shook her head.

“It’s all right. I know you don’t want to talk about it. Especially not here.” She gestured, indicating the rest of the ballroom, while twirling her fan in her left hand. 

He glanced about, aware of her quiet signal, and sure enough, he saw Sir Aymeric watching them from across the ballroom. “Why don’t we find a seat, my dear.”

“Of course, _Papa_,” she winked, and he at least felt relief at the use of such an intimate term. If she could still smile and play with him, then her mood must not be too sour.

Together, they found a small couch in the corner, with space for two, and sat on it. A servant came by a moment later with a tray of chilled white wine. Edmont took a glass, and reached for a second to give (Y/N), but she shook her head. “I don’t feel up to alcohol tonight. Could I trouble you for some tea?”

The servant bowed without a word, and continued on his rounds, but sure enough in a few moments a small saucer with tea was placed on a small wooden table beside her. (Y/N) sipped delicately, and watched the dancers moving with stately grace across the marble floors. Occasionally, someone would come over, and pay their respects to her, bowing and thanking her for her assistance to Ishgard in the War. Even the girl being debuted that evening, Lisette de Haillenarte, made a point of abandoning the cluster of hot-blooded young men to greet Edmont’s paramore, and thank her for the favor she showed by attending.

(Y/N) smiled. “When you figure out which one you want,” She gestured idly towards the young men waiting anxiously for Lisette to return, “do let me know. I will be happy to help with any issues your parents may have with the match.”

Lisette grinned, and curtseyed. “Thank you, Lady (Y/N). I will be sure to send word if your assistance is required.” Then she drifted away, back to the young men.

“You’re going to cause trouble, pet,” Edmont said. “Marriage is a serious matter in Ishgard.”

She snapped her fan shut, and he saw the irritation on her face. “Just because I can’t marry the man I love does not mean I should sit idly by and let the same tragedy befall others.”

“(Y/N)...” His voice was pained. “Please. One cannot just marry whomever they choose. There are many considerations that go into it - business, politics, property -”

“Is that the problem?” Her voice was sharp, even in her whisper. “I don’t have any _property_ to give you?” She stood, and he could see the anger flushing her cheeks. 

Edmont opened his mouth to say more, but Aymeric was there, and he bowed to (Y/N). “My lady, might I have this dance?”

“Fine.” The word was bitten out, and she took the Lord Speaker’s hand. “I need a moment away from Edmont before I lose my temper.”

Aymeric ignored her fantastic breach of etiquette, and pulled her onto the floor for the waltz. Her seat was only vacant a moment, before, to his surprise, Artoirel took the space beside his father.

“My son,” he said in surprise. “You did not even call at the manor beforehand?”

“No. I was speaking with Lord Aymeric.” The Count de Fortemps gave his father a condescending look. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been working on this match?”

“Which match?” Edmont drummed his fingers on his cane.

“Marrying (Y/N) to the Lord Speaker!” Artoirel scoffed. “I know you may be content to bandy about in your retirement but Ishgard needs stability. Aymeric doesn’t _want_ to lead for long but has accepted that his rule is preferable to continued instability. To achieve that stability he must marry well. House Fortemps was in near-disgrace after the War, and while your abdication helped matters, it did not solve them. (Y/N) is our one chance at avoiding ignominy. If she marries him as a member of House Fortemps, the people will rave over it. Aymeric's political opponents will not be able to stand against the force of her visible approval.”

“I see,” Edmont said, watching (Y/N) move across the room in Aymeric’s arms. Whatever the Lord Speaker had said had her smiling again, and for a moment his heart was pained. He had upset her, with his comments about marriage being politics and property, especially when he knew what she wanted. Just as he would never fight for her, the way Haurchefant had done, he could never dance with her, either, as Aymeric did now. 

But (Y/N) had made her desires clear, and he would not gainsay her. She wanted to marry _him_, not Aymeric, no matter what designs the Lord Speaker had made with his son. “You seem to operate under the delusion that (Y/N) will just blindly go along with your plans.” He turned to Artoirel, and sighed. “If you have learned anything, can you not see the foolishness of trying to force the issue?”

“She will be amenable if you break things off with her.” Artoirel scowled. “She has said as much to him. She has no other marriage prospects, but she will not entertain courtship with anyone else until, as she put it, ‘he is done with me’.”

“I am not done with her. Nor shall I be. You have received my letter.” Edmont felt his patience growing thin. Artoirel may be the Count, but he was still his _son_. “I asked for your consent as a courtesy. But do not think for a moment I will not marry her without it. You worry so much about what ‘the people’ will think. Tell me, Artoirel, what will they think when they hear that the Count de Fortemps threw his father out on the street for falling in love with the Warrior of Light? For refusing to give her up so that the Lord Speaker could trap her in a political marriage?”

He watched (Y/N)’s body language in Aymeric’s arms. Straight. Rigid. Perfectly formal and kind, but she kept him at arm’s length. None who watched them dance would think they were intimate. As they turned (Y/N) looked over at Edmont, who blew her a kiss. He was rewarded with her bright smile and a delighted laugh. At least she wasn’t too angry.

“The time comes for all men to choose, my son. If they will choose politics or love. I made the wrong choice, decades ago, and what that did to your brother haunts me still.” Edmont looked at Artoirel and sighed. “I have a second chance. I do not intend to waste it.”

Artoirel bowed his head. “Don’t expect me to be happy about it.”

“So long as you do not act in a way to make (Y/N) aware of your ire, I will weather it. But she has done nothing wrong, and I will not have patience with you mistreating her, the way your mother mistreated -”

“I understand,” Artoirel growled. “Just... “ He ran a hand through his hair. “Halone, this is going to be difficult.”

Edmont chuckled. “If you need assistance, I am here, but I consider the difficulty you will have to be your deserving for trying to dictate something so personal to her. You know she’s not from Ishgard, and would not be pleased.”

Artoirel scowled again. “I’m going to get a drink.” He stood, and bowed politely to his father, then stormed off. 

Edmont searched the floor again, and saw (Y/N) with Aymeric, but they had stopped moving. The Lord Speaker seemed worried as (Y/N) lifted a hand to her mouth, and span on her heel, darting from the room.

Leveraging himself to his feet with his cane, Edmont followed after her. He saw her vanish into the lady’s dressing room, and a moment later heard her retching. He winced.

“(Y/N), my love, are you all right?” It would be rude for him to go in after her, but he hoped that he might be able to offer some comfort, even if it was only by making his concern evident.

“I’m fine, just…” She heaved again. “Just nauseous.”

“Was it something you ate?” He asked, and glanced at his pocket watch.

“Haven’t eaten since lunch…” 

He frowned, and that feeling from earlier that day, of something unfinished, crept back into his mind. He was missing something. Something vital.

Edmont looked up through one of the skylights at the moon, bright and full as it had been over a month ago when he declared his love, and -

His stomach clenched, and his mouth went dry. 

“Oh, _Halone_,” he whispered, pressing his hand to his face. “Oh, Halone, what have I done?”


	10. In the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes are raised.

Edmont sat at his desk in his study, his hands folded in front of his face. He was almost amused at Artoirel’s pacing. He wasn’t the one who would be most affected by these events. Then again, Edmont had waited this way three times before already, whereas Artoirel had only done it the once, when Emmanellain -

There was a soft knock at the door, and Edmont opened his mouth to invite the healer in, but Artoirel opened the door with a panicked, “Well?”

The healer came in and bowed to Artoirel, then his father. “Your suspicions were correct, Lord de Fortemps.”

Edmont closed his eyes. “Are they both well?”

“Quite,” the healer replied. “She is very strong and healthy, so it should be an easy pregnancy, provided she does not take…” she glanced askance as she spoke, “_unnecessary risks._”

Artoirel was pouring himself a liberal glass of scotch, and muttering prayers to Halone. 

“That will be the problem, I fear,” Edmont said, standing. “Keeping her from taking unnecessary risks. May I see her?”

The healer laughed behind her hand. “I got the impression she would be cross with you if you didn’t.”

* * *

Edmont quietly pressed open the door to (Y/N)’s room, and smiled at the sight of her sitting up in bed, reading a small pressed pamphlet the healer had given her. He coughed softly and approached, careful to keep his cane from hitting the stone floor. “How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” she said sharply, then set the pamphlet down and looked at him. “Before you ask, _No._”

He was surprised. “No, what?”

“No,” she said. “I will not marry you.”

Edmont took a sudden step back. How had she known what he was going to say? “(Y/N), I…”

Her face was hard. “I was not good enough to marry before you knew. This changes nothing.”

“But, (Y/N)... Think of the child.” He said, and came to sit on her bed beside her.

“I _am_.” Her voice was flat. “I will not make my child suffer to be raised by a mother who is desperately unhappy.”

“Why would you be unhappy?” Edmont asked quietly.

“I realized, at the party,” she said quietly. “For all that we have fun together, and love each other, you would not forsake your pride for me. You didn’t want to marry me because I didn’t have a title or property or _anything_ that you Ishgardians value to bring to the marriage. Now you only want to marry me to avoid having another bastard.” (Y/N) was crying. “I will not marry someone who loves me less than everything else he already has and is. So no, Edmont. I will not marry you.”

“M-marriage isn’t about love,” he began. There had to be some way to salvage this.

She would not let him finish. “Yes, it is. It is for me. Maybe it’s time you remembered I’m Eorzean.” She drew her knees up to her chest. “Maybe it’s time I remembered it, too.” She paused. “I think I want to be alone tonight.”

It was a clear dismissal, and Edmont was too much of a gentleman to argue. “Very well.” He stood. “But I cannot accept any decision you make tonight. May we take some time tomorrow to discuss this with clearer heads?” 

(Y/N) made a non-commital noise, but he took it for assent. They both needed space. Still, he stopped at the door, and looked back at her once more. “Please, my dear. Don’t forget that I love you.”

She nodded, and he shut the door behind him, leaving her to her rest.

On his way down the stairs, he passed her lady’s maid, heading up with a strong smelling tea and a small vial of dark liquid beside it. “What is that?” he asked.

“A tonic, my lord.” She bowed in deference, without spilling a drop. “The doctor left it, to help her sleep, as Lady (Y/N) seemed rattled.”

“Oh,” Edmont nodded. “Very good. Please, in the morning, let me know when she wakes.”

The maid nodded. “As you wish, my lord.” She swept up the stairs, and Edmont returned to his study to light his candles.

* * *

A shriek from across the hall woke Edmont with a start. He reached out for (Y/N), only to realize the (R/N) was not beside him, and the events of the night before. Those events, compounded with the cry, made him forget modesty. He grabbed his cane and made his way as quickly as he could to the door, clothing be damned. 

“(Y/N)?” He called, and found her door ajar, and she was not there. 

Firmien arrived a moment later, carrying one of Edmont’s dressing gowns. “Here, my lord,” he said quietly, and helped him into it.

“Where is she?” He asked the steward, looking about the room. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

“We don’t know, sir.” Firmien said. “The maid just came downstairs to tell me she was not abed.”

“Find her. I don’t care what it takes. Leave the manor undefended if you must. I want every knight and servant of House Fortemps looking for her, save the page you send to House Borel. Lord Aymeric must be made aware of what has transpired.” Edmont’s chest hurt, and he leaned heavily on his cane. Firmien reached for him, but he snapped at the man. “_Find her!_”

After a few moments the pain subsided, and he hurried downstairs. Artoirel met him in the foyer. “The servants are searching as we speak, but from what I understand,” the boy’s face was pained. “There seems to be no sign of her within the manor.”

Edmont slumped against the wall. “We…” He looked down at the floor, and lifted a hand to his face. “We were supposed to speak, over breakfast. She wouldn’t just…” Halone, he was crying, before his own son, like a fool. “(Y/N) wouldn’t just leave without a word.”

Artoirel was visibly uncomfortable. “I-I’m sure she wouldn’t. Father, I have this well in hand. Regardless of any dislike I may have of the match between you two, (Y/N) is still a ward of this house, and I am honor-bound to protect her and see her safe. Please, go upstairs. Let Firmien see to your wardrobe, and get you something strong to drink. Today promises to be a trial regardless, and you cannot face it barefoot in your dressing gown.”

“Right,” Edmont murmured. He felt Firmien’s firm hand on his arm.

“Come, Lord Edmont,” his lifelong friend murmured soothingly. “Let’s get you upstairs and dressed. I’m sure Lord Aymeric will be here shortly to investigate.”

* * *

Half-an-hour later, Edmont was dressed and had a cup of coffee with a shot of something strong in him, it was enough to bring him back to his senses. He stood in the doorway to (Y/N)’s bedchamber while Aymeric investigated, along with the assistance of two of the Temple Knights.

To his credit, the Lord Speaker did not have an emotional reaction to learning that (Y/N) was with Edmont’s child. He merely nodded, then his assistant - the ever-enigmatic Lucia - added it to the notes she was taking on the incident. 

They had noticed many things in the short time there whilst Edmont was reeling over the (Y/N)-shaped hole in his heart. Her bedroom window had been open, despite the unseasonable cold. The only items missing were the items she wore when she went to bed the night before. Her gown from the party was still laid out over the chest at the foot of her bed. But all suspicion that she may have fled of her own accord well and truly died when they discovered her small sack of soulstones - one of the most vital parts of her skill as a warrior - was still in its spot in her bedside table. Of all the things in this room, that is the one that (Y/N) would _never_ have willingly left behind.

Aymeric held it up, and he met Edmont’s gaze. “I’ll put out a notice at once. There can be no doubt, now, that (Y/N) was taken against her will.”

“What I don’t understand,” Lucia said, “is how she was taken. Why was she not armed? She’s the Warrior of _Light_, by Halone.”

Aymeric swallowed. “I think it is a testament to how safe she felt here,” he said quietly, “that she would give no thought to leaving herself defenseless, in her own home, in her own bed, with her lover across the hall.” He set the bag down on the bedside table and ran a hand through his hair.

When he turned back to face them, he sighed heavily. “This is not a failure of House Fortemps. This is a failure of every knight in Ishgard. (Y/N) (L/N) is the Warrior of Light, the hero who ended the Dragonsong War, and a ward of one of our highest noble houses. The fact that someone was able to slip into her bedroom and steal her away against her will in the heart of our very city is a stain which will take us all _lifetimes_ to overcome.” The Lord Commander straightened his long blue robes over his armor. “Please know, Lord Edmont, that she will be found. The very honor of this city demands no less.”

Edmont nodded. “Thank you, Lord Speaker.”

Aymeric shook her head. “Do not thank me. We have not brought her home, yet.”

* * *

(Y/N) opened her eyes, then shut them again quickly against the bright firelight. She could tell she was bound to a chair, and still in her nightclothes. Her head ached from whatever sleeping draught the lady’s maid had given her the night before, and she wondered if it was really from the doctor.

After a moment, she opened her eyes slowly, and saw a figure in blue, with long black hair standing beside the mantle.

“Good Morning, Halone,” she said, and her eyes shone with religious mania. “I hope you’ve rested well. Our preparations are almost complete.”

“For what?” (Y/N) asked.

The woman sighed softly, and swayed in place. “For your glorious ascension.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Edmont, what shall you do? Ohohohohohohohohohohoho!


	11. A Force of Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Warrior of Light's remains missing, Edmont grows desperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end of this story, so I may try to press the last few chapters out next weekend with the extra time off!

As knights searched the city, Edmont found himself pacing the streets, cursing himself for his idiocy. He should have insisted on staying with her. He should have insisted on her hand. No, none of that was true.

He should have proposed before hearing Artoirel’s response. 

He had told his son as much, that he was willing to wed her with or without his consent, but Edmont had not told (Y/N), and now she had been snatched from her home, and if he had just been more open about his plans, she would have been in his room, curled beside him when the assailant crept into her chamber.

As he passed through the Jeweled Crozier, he realized what was amiss. What had _changed_. He stopped, and looked around to confirm his suspicions. Then he moved to the Aetheryte plaza, and looked there as well. Then he moved to the stairs that led down into the Brume. That was when he was certain. All morning, he had not seen a single cultist in their pale blue robes.

Edmont made his way to the Temple Knights Garrison, and asked to speak with the Lord Commander. After a few minutes, Lucia approached. “He seems to have stepped out. Would you like me to send him to see you when he returns, Lord Edmont?”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, waving a hand. “I just wanted to be sure he was aware that our city is suddenly bereft of cultists. That may bear investigation.”

Lucia bowed. “Of course, Lord Edmont. We’ll send someone to notify you as soon as we know anything.”

* * *

(Y/N) slipped in and out of consciousness - these cultists were not fools. She may not have her soulstones, but she was still the Warrior of Light, still the deadliest weapon in Ishgard. But they did not understand the _Echo_, not like she and Minfilia had. 

She was not sure how long she had been unconscious when her mind returned to her, when the liquid they forced down her throat was merely disgusting, not dream-inducing. The Champion of Eorzea played the part, pretending to still be drugged, and listened. 

On the third day of her wakefulness, she finally heard someone she recognized. 

“For the last time, Pascale! You must give her back! I’m fine with continuing the plan, but she’s with _child_. I need that babe healthy and whole!” Artoirel’s voice slipped past the wooden door, and (Y/N) lifted her head slowly. 

She could hear the woman murmur something before he continued. “He interfered with the plan, I understand. But the child must be born, and legitimized. Things have only been pushed back a few years.”

“You’ve already waited three! What’s two more?”

The rest of the conversation was lost as a wave of nausea hit (Y/N), and try as she might, she couldn’t help but wretch violently.

* * *

The days bled together quickly for Edmont, the lack of sleep and lack of progress twisting together with his fears and regrets to make every moment as torturous as the last. He prayed, he paced the streets, he stood in the doorway to (Y/N)’s untouched bedroom, he lit candle after candle until his fingers blistered from the heat.

Artoirel came, and told him to rest more, but he didn’t listen.

Aymeric came, and told him that given the four weeks that had passed since she vanished, with no ransom note, they had to discuss the possibility that she had been killed. 

It was only after the Lord Speaker left that he finally climbed the stairs to his study, and stared at the unlit candles in his small shrine to Halone. How long had it been since he prayed? He remembered how fervent he had been immediately after her disappearance, but just as the color had left him, so too had his faith. He had been so fervent, so desperate in his devotion to Halone, yet it seemed She was done with him, and content to set him aside, no care for his hopes and dreams or emotions - just a broom She no longer had a need for, shut away in the closet that was Fortemps Manor, forgotten.

He leaned heavily on his cane and remembered standing here, just a few months ago, with (Y/N).

> “You worry about what will happen to me when I am fifty and alone, after you’ve passed on.” Her hand went to his cheek. “Think about what you are saying, and think about who I am. Do you really believe I will see fifty?”

“Yes,” he replied to her, shutting his eyes against the tears gathering there. “I do.”

Edmont clenched his jaw and firmed his resolve. He had read about primals. He had listened to (Y/N) describe her first hand experience with them. If what she had said was true, that Hydaelyn Herself _was_ a primal, and an _active_ primal, then She would not throw away Her chosen Warrior of Light so easily. For all that he loved her, and all that she play-acted in the city, he knew what she was - a force of nature. (Y/N) was the howling wind and the killing frost, a blizzard to bury cities and a quake to shatter stone. No primal would so easily toss away a tool that could change the fate of stars. 

He reached for the taper, and stared at the candle on the end, the one he usually lit for (Y/N).

“Hydaelyn,” he whispered, forgoing the rote formality of the Halonic church as he prayed to this unfamiliar Crystal Mother. “I have never prayed to You before, and to be frank, even if You grant my request, I probably will not again. (Y/N) tells me You are the Goddess of Second Chances, and in her I thought I had found one, yet now she is gone from me, and no one knows where, or how. The only clue I have is that she was probably taken by the cult that worships her as Halone, though I know not where they have taken her, or for what purpose.”

A single drop of wax slid down the side of the taper as he toyed with the words he wanted to say. When it reached the base, he spoke them. “I love her. I want her back. I want both her and our unborn child to return home, alive. I have no offering of crystals, but for You I doubt that is a problem. If I have learned anything from her tale, it is that You extract Your own sacrifices as payment for Your miracles. I know that I will suffer for her safe return,” He felt his face twist into a bitter smile, despite his begging, “and whatever You take from me will be worse than whatever I currently assume will be the cost, so I will not bother attempting to guess. Name Your price, and You shall have it, so long as she comes home.”

He clenched his jaw, the strength of his conviction hardening his heart as he lit the fat prayer candle. He would give anything for (Y/N) and their unborn child, and he knew that if his lover’s Hydaelyn heard his prayers, he would hurt for it. He was ready.

Edmont remembered what he had told (Y/N), the last time such a tragedy struck House Fortemps. “A knight lives to serve. To protect. To sacrifice. There is no greater calling.” And Halone damn him for a fool, but he was still a knight.

* * *

The next morning, Edmont rose from the most restful slumber he’d had in weeks. He stretched as much as he could while he waited for Firmien, then sat in bed and read until the sun was well within the confines of his bedroom window. Where was that man? He was late.

Grumbling, the Lord de Fortemps climbed out of bed and dressed himself, tugging at the fabric until the snaps fell into place on their own, and pressed them against the stone wall until the made the familiar popping sound that meant they were secure. He shrugged into his fur-lined surcoat and grumbled in the mirror. Nothing he could see wrong with his appearance, but he was sure when he found Firmien, the man would be shocked he’d left his bedroom in this state at all.

Edmont made his way down the stairs, asking the passing servants where the Steward was, only for them to tell him he was indisposed. While normally he’d have accepted such an excuse, Firmien was his closest friend, and he would be damned if he was going to be fobbed off with a vague ‘indisposed’. For the first time in recent memory, Edmont pushed his way through the non-descript wooden door that lead to the servants’ quarters of the manor.

It was generally considered rude for the upstairs family to go into the downstairs save the lady of the house, but as _she_ had been missing for the last four weeks, he assumed exceptions could be made. The other servants scuttled out of his way, until he found the head housekeeper going over a ledger in her office.

He coughed politely, and opened his mouth to inquire as to Firmien’s whereabouts, only for the no-nonsense woman to say, “In his room, last door on the left, my lord,” without looking up from her work.

The Lord of the manor recognized the dismissal in her tone, and ducked his head obediently before heading towards Firmien’s door. He rapped on it with a cane, and a few moments later, the man answered.

“M-my lord, what are you...?” His eyes widened as he saw the sunlight streaming in the windows. “Oh, Halone, forgive me, I was distracted, and…”

“Firmien,” Edmont said quietly. “You are my oldest friend. What is going on?”

The steward sighed. “Much has been weighing on my mind of late, and I fear last night I got no sleep because of it.”

“That’s obvious,” he said, nodding towards the still-made bed. “But what is the _trouble_.”

“I… learned something yesterday. Something you will not like, and I have been struggling with my oaths.”

Edmont’s eyes narrowed. “Explain.”

Firmien stepped away from the door and beckoned him to come inside his chamber, then closed the door behind him. They both took a seat at the small table near the Steward’s bed, and he poured Edmont and himself a shot of cheap liquor.

“What would you do if you had to choose?” Firmien asked, weakly. “What would you do if you had to choose between the Warrior of Light and House Fortemps? What would you do if you had to choose between (Y/N) and your son?”

The Lord de Fortemps stared at the shotglass in his hand. _Well, Hydaelyn,_ he thought to himself, _You certainly exceeded my expectations._


	12. Warriors and Politicians

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edmont takes to his battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the chapter after it were originally going to be one chapter, but I realized this was getting too long so divided it.

The wind was bitterly cold to Edmont, though he wondered how much of it was the weather, and how much was the knife in his heart. Hydaelyn’s price was high indeed - so high he almost didn’t want to pay. If it had been to save anyone else - _anyone_ else - he would have let the cult have their way, and taken his son to task privately. If it had not involved the honor of Ishgard and House Fortemps, he would have hired private mercenaries to come in and extract her, and kept Artoirel’s involvement secret.

But no, Hydaelyn would demand nothing less. And before the Warrior of Light, he was as powerless as the rest of them. He would pay, though it broke his heart, and so would House Fortemps, though it may destroy them. He could only hope the plans whirling unformed in the back of his mind, like the snow in the air around him, would be enough to save Emmanellain and House Fortemps from the consequences of the Count’s heresy.

Despair wracked his heart as he saw him, his eldest, Artoirel, step out of the lower level of the Forgotten Knight and head deeper into the Brume from his perch on the steps. Edmont followed him from some distance back, dressed in naught but servant’s clothes borrowed from Firmien, who walked beside him. Most residents of the district instantly recognized they did not belong there, but Artoirel, raised and trained for statecraft, not spywork, was too unobservant to notice he was being tailed.

Maybe he had done his son a disservice by giving him such a narrow education.

Each step, Edmont found himself wishing that Artoirel would turn into some other alley. A brothel, a drug den, Halone, even hiring an assassin would be easier to bear than this. But Edmont saw. He watched his eldest son nod to a man standing watch, and enter the shack with the symbol of the Fury carved crudely into the door.

* * *

Aymeric sat across from Edmont de Fortemps and his House Steward, Firmien, his mouth pressed into a hard line. “These are very serious accusations, Lord Edmont,” he said, and drummed his fingers on his desk. “You know our investigation has stalled. If you had not come forward with this, we probably would not find them in time. Further, he is the head of your house. This will destroy House Fortemps.”

Edmont shook his head. He’d had time to think, to plan. “Perhaps not. There are other options.”

“True,” he said, “though I don’t know if there will be much support for Emmanellain. He is young, and his reputation is not one of distinction.” Aymeric sighed. “Still, you have cracked this case for us, as they say, and it would be remiss of me to not at least offer - would you like to join us, when we save her? Play the dashing hero one last time?”

“Do you mind if I am frank with you for a moment, Lord Speaker?”

He chuckled. “You’ve managed to enable us to save _her._ You can do whatever you like.”

“Aymeric, do you understand why she chose me, and not you?” It clearly had not been the question the man had been expecting, for the shock was evident on his face, but Edmont continued. “She does not want a warrior, my friend.” He smiled, but it was as bitter as the wind outside. “(Y/N) is more of a warrior than you or I will ever be. She wants a politician.”

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Edmont smiled generously. “Give it time. For now, I leave you to your battlefield, Lord Commander. I shall see to mine.”

* * *

Emmanellain bowed politely to the Count de Haillenarte as the man exited the parlor, but raised an eyebrow to his father as he entered. “Father,” he asked, taking his customary seat on a plush armchair. “What’s going on? We’ve had visitors in and out all day, and now you send for me?”

Nodding softly, Edmont glanced at the child, Honoroit, ever Emmanellain’s shadow. “I am sorry to ask this, Honoroit, but I fear this is a private conversation I must have with my son. Could I trouble you to give us some privacy?”

That dismissal seemed to have caught Emmanellain’s attention more than anything else, and he looked on in surprise as the young man bowed. “I will wait without, my Lord.”

Once they were alone, Emmanellain straightened, anxiety embedded in every plane of his young face, and it made Edmont feel strangely guilty. This was a conversation he should have had with his youngest years ago. “Worry not, my boy, you are not in any kind of trouble.”

The youngest Fortemps relaxed a little, and leaned back in his chair. “Something’s going on.”

Edmont nodded. “A lot of things are going to happen before this day is through, Emmanellain. All our lives will change, in one way or another. But before we get to that, I owe you an apology.”

“What?” The look his son was giving him would probably be less strange if he had grown a second head than this turn of events.

“Your whole life, I have placed the expectations of your rank and your birth upon you, using them as both a rule by which to judge you and a rod with which to beat you for your seeming inadequacies.” He swallowed. “I acted as the head of your house, but not as I should have as your _father_.” Edmont could feel tears of shame pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he would not weep before the boy. “Regardless of your place in Ishgard, you are my _son_, and I love you. Nothing will change that.”

“I know, Father.” Thank heavens Emmanellain was not weeping, though his smile was a touch lopsided. “If you did not love me, you would have been much harsher with my inadequacies.”

“Still,” Edmont said, “I am sorry that I have not given you the patience I should have. Now, onto the business at hand. You are aware that you are Artoirel’s heir?”

The boy’s face blanched. “Is he all right?”

“For now. But he has done something terrible, and may be forced to abdicate.” Edmont suddenly felt weary, as if all the years and events of his life were pressing down on his shoulders. “Artoirel is my son, too, and I will do what I can to protect him - but this conversation is not about him or his future. It is about you and yours.”

“So I’m to become the Count de Fortemps.” Emmanellain’s smile held no joy or determination, only a deep bitterness and cynicism.

“Not necessarily,” Edmont said. “That is why you and I should have had this conversation years ago. Either on your sixteenth birthday when you came of age, or a few years ago when I abdicated in favor of Artoirel. I admit, at the time, I thought he would marry and have children, and the question of your succession to the title would matter little. Now I see I was a fool.”

“What other option is there?” His son looked away, staring into the fire. 

“What would you do,” Edmont asked quietly. “If you were not the heir of House Fortemps. If you could go anywhere, do anything, _be_ anything? What would you choose for yourself?”

“Does it matter? I’m Artoirel’s heir. If he is forced to abdicate, that’s it.”

Edmont shook his head. “Humor me.”

* * *

A crash, followed immediately by a scream, woke (Y/N) from her sleep, still tied to the wooden chair. The woman with dark hair, whom she had learned was Artoirel’s ‘Pascale’, ran in from a side room.

“No!” she said, “it’s -”

The door into the chamber burst open, and Aymeric strode into the room, sword in hand. Soldiers ran past him, securing the cultists, stifling Pascale’s screaming with a gag, and collecting the veritable mountains of crystals in store rooms throughout the ramshackle lair. But he just stood, staring silently at her, waiting for… something.

“Why don’t you want a warrior?” he asked, finally, as he stepped toward her, reaching behind the chair and cutting her free.

(Y/N) looked up at him, and smiled. “If you have to ask that question, you won’t understand my answer.”

“Edmont said to give it time. How long?” He put his hands on her shoulders as she stood, and even now, (Y/N) knew she could be _content_ with Aymeric. Content, but not _happy._

“When the time comes, you’ll know.”


	13. Count de Fortemps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artoirel returns to Fortemps Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAH I'm crying.

A strange sense of foreboding hung over Fortemps Manor when Artoirel returned, having secured the new shipment of crystals Pascale had demanded that morning. He would go and see her again tomorrow, set up delivery, then -

"Artoirel." His father's voice was hard and sorrowful, and guilt settled on the young Count's shoulders. He had not intended to break his father's heart with this business.

"Father," Artoirel turned. "How are you faring?"

"Both better and worse, I fear. But come, we're about to have supper in the dining room, and your presence is required." 

Artoirel followed him in to supper, and it was only as his eyes met Lord Aymeric's that he realized he heard the sound of a bear trap going off in the echo of the door swinging shut.

* * *

“I’m glad you invited guests for dinner, Father,” Artoirel said as he made for his seat at the head of the table, though there was a slight quiver of concern in his voice. 

Edmont said nothing, just quietly took his seat at the foot, and glanced at the guests in question - Lord Aymeric and Count de Haillenarte. Firmien silently served the first course, then leaned down and murmured into Edmont’s ear, so low only he could hear. “(Y/N) is still sleeping, but the doctor says all is well.”

He relaxed at that. If his dearest were to find Artoirel before his fate had been decided, she might very well decide it for him, with how angry she’d been on her return to the manor. She’d barely looked at Edmont, merely giving him a single passionate kiss that tasted of laudanum and bile before heading up to her rooms shouting profanities.

It had gladdened his heart, still. She was home safe, the rest could be borne. Even this.

As they began to eat, Edmont saw the guests, and Emmanellain, watching him closely. He was the eldest Fortemps, and Artoirel’s father. Of anyone, he alone had the right to begin this battle.

“Artoirel, I have a question for you.”

His son looked up, already wary. Had he been warned? Edmont doubted it. He’d been out of the city most of the day, and the Temple Knights had posted guards to watch over the cultists lair and apprehend any who approached. Otherwise, the days business had been kept a tight secret. 

“Yes, Father?” 

“If you were forced to choose between your honor or your life, which would you choose?”

The Count de Fortemps frowned. “I don’t know what you mean. I’ve lived honorably. I will live and die with both.”

Emmanellain snorted into his wine glass and Edmont gave him a disapproving glance.

“Tell me, Artoirel, for I am quite curious,” Here, Edmont’s own honor began to war within him - his honor as a man and as a member of House Fortemps and as a father, all tearing at each other. As a man he should protect (Y/N). As a member of House Fortemps he should protect Artoirel. And as a father he should protect both the Count and the unborn child (Y/N) carried. In the end, it came down to the simplest of vows - those he took as a knight - and first among them was to defend the weak and innocent. And no one at this time was more weak and innocent than the child he had yet to meet. “What do you think your options will be, when (Y/N) returns home, knowing what she knows of your involvement with the Cult of Halone, and the very real risk you posed to her child?”

Artoirel’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, and his eyes met Edmont’s. “What do you mean, Father?” He stiffened, setting his fork on his plate, the food uneaten. “Why, it almost sounds as though you’re accusing me of something.”

“Now isn’t the time to play coy, Artoirel.” His voice was hard. “(Y/N) is currently sleeping off whatever drugs this…” he glanced to Aymeric.

“Pascale,” the Lord Speaker supplied.

“... Pascale was giving her. If I don’t have an adequate answer for what is to be done with you when she wakes, I fear the rest of the nobility will be content to leave it up to _her.”_

“And you would let her kill me, wouldn’t you?” Artoirel’s voice was bitter. “You’d let her have whatever she likes because you’re obsessed with her. You’ve never given a damn about us. Not once your previous mistress had a child. Now you’ve got a new mistress, a new child, and we are inconveniences again.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “Now you’ve got to choose who to side with in this fiasco, and of course you choose to mollify your lover rather than protect your son.”

“I am not choosing between my lover and my son, Artoirel. I am choosing between the honor of my House and protecting the innocent.” Edmont folded his hands in front of himself on the table, his appetite gone. “You are a man grown, and are responsible for your own actions. (Y/N) may be the Warrior of Light, but she, and the child she carries, are innocent in this matter.”

“If I may,” Aymeric said, interrupting the conversation. “It should also be noted that your father _is_ protecting you. As Lord Commander of the Temple Knights and the Lord Speaker of the House of Lords, I am honor-bound to see you arrested, tried, and executed for a number of crimes, not the least of which are heresy, conspiracy to summon a primal, and high treason.” He shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “However, your father is using his extensive political connections to give you an opportunity to save face and walk away from this with your head, which is more than I can say anyone else will give you.”

The Count de Haillenarte coughed. “I’ve taken the liberty of drawing up some papers for you to sign.” He reached down beside his chair, and lifted a leather satchel, removing some documents from them, passing them to Aymeric, who set them by Artoirel’s place. 

The current Count de Fortemps picked them up, and his face, pale with fear, flushed red with anger as he read them. “This is a letter of abdication, citing my inexperience and giving my place as Count de Fortemps back to _you.”_ He glared at his father accusingly. 

“The other is a formal confession,” Edmont said, ignoring the intended jab. “And an agreement that you will not be prosecuted in exchange for an exhaustive testimony on the Cult of Halone and its activities.”

Artoirel set them both back down. “And if I don’t sign?”

Edmont opened his mouth, but it was Emmanellain who spoke, slumping back in his chair petulantly. “Then Aymeric arrests you, you spend the rest of your miserably short life imprisoned until you’re executed, and then _I_ abdicate in favor of Father’s experience.”

Everyone at the table raised their eyebrows at Emmanellain.

“How dare you?” Artoirel began. “You’ve done nothing for this House, but -”

“You’re right,” Emmanellain sat back up, and slammed his hand on the table. “I _have_ done nothing for this House. But I’ve also done nothing _to_ this House, like, I don’t know, running off and joining a heretical cult that planned to turn the Warrior of Light into a primal, just like that Ysayle woman!” He stood, his chair skittering back along the stone, his voice reaching a fever pitch. “I may not be you or father’s idea of a perfect nobleman, but I have never, and _would_ never, endanger the people of Ishgard so much as to summon a primal in the center of the city for political power. I may make stupid choices, but they only affect _me!”_

Artoirel shot to his feet, and opened his mouth, but Emmanellain continued. “Thus, brother, you get to choose - sacrifice your personal honor, but save your life and the honor of House Fortemps; or go down with this cult, watch House Fortemps tumble from its position, and find your head on a block by this time next week.” The youngest Fortemps gritted his teeth. “If (Y/N) even lets you live that long.”

* * *

Gentle sunlight caught on (Y/N)’s eyes, pulling her, at last, from sleep. She yawned and sat up, and Firmien startled awake from where he sat by her bedside. 

“Oh,” he said, rubbing a hand across his face. “Forgive me, my lady.”

“Firmien?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Count Edmont’s presence was required at the House of Lords. I was the only one he trusted enough to leave to watch over you.”

“How long have I…” her head snapped up, and she fixed him with a sharp stare. “Wait, _Count_ Edmont?”

“Yes,” Firmien stood. “Let me get you some tea.” He crossed to the side table where a small silver pot of water was keeping warm over an enchanted stone, and added some leaves.

“Will you tell me what happened?” (Y/N) asked quietly.

“Lord - that is to say - Artoirel has confessed to his involvement in the cult in exchange for clemency. He has been stripped of his noble title, and begun training to join the priesthood of Halone.” He carefully selected a few of the little shortbread cookies the Lady was partial to, and set them around their own small china plate. “Milk and sugar?”

“Please,” she said. “But, if Artoirel has lost his title…”

“Emmanellain made his desire to not be the Head of House Fortemps quite clear, and prays fervently that you are delivered of a son. He has begun investing in Garlond Ironworks, and in exchange they have been teaching him to use their guns. This evening, you'll probably hear the racket of his practicing through the courtyard.” Firmien smiled indulgently. “Thus, Edmont is once again the Count de Fortemps.”

“I’m happy for him.” (Y/N)’s voice was strained, but she refused to cry. “He got everything he wanted.” Then she paused. “Firmien, will you send for a servant to help me pack? I should return to Gridania.”

“I will in the morning, Lady (Y/N), but the doctor gave strict orders that you are to rest.” He assembled the small tea tray - teacup, saucer, cookies - and then surreptitiously tucked the tattered letter from his pocket next to them.

Without a word, he set the tray on her lap, and turned to go. When he was almost to the door, she said, “Firmien, what’s this?” 

He turned, and smiled to see her holding up his small addition to the tray. “It is a letter we found amongst Artoirel’s things, that he brought back from Ala Mhigo. Edmont would not want you troubled, but I thought you should read it before you leave Ishgard.”

> _  
_
> 
> My dear Artoirel,
> 
> I hope this letter finds you well, and that you have found many victories in Ala Mhigo. I know your time is precious, so I will be brief - things have happened here, and I have learned much and more about both myself and (Y/N).
> 
> There is no easy way to say this, but the long and short of it is that I have decided to take her to wife, and though I am your father, YOU are the Count de Fortemps, and I will not do her the disservice of doing this improperly.
> 
> I politely request that you, as the head of House Fortemps, give your consent to the match.
> 
> Yes, I have considered the fact that she is two score years my junior.
> 
> Yes, I am aware that others may have more political designs on her.
> 
> Yes, I am aware that very few people will approve.
> 
> Yes, I love her.
> 
> If you have further questions, or wish to give your consent, I look forward to receiving your letter. Otherwise, it has been a very long time since you have returned home, and I would be happy to discuss this in person.
> 
> With paternal affection,
> 
> Lord Edmont de Fortemps

_  
_

(Y/N) read the letter again, then a third and fourth time, and saw her hands were shaking. 

Edmont loved her. He hadn’t _planned_ any of this. “All that idiot planned was to marry me,” she whispered, then stared out the window while she sipped her tea.

* * *

Edmont hesitated outside of (Y/N)’s door. Firmien had said she was awake, and had asked after him, but they had not parted on the best of terms last time they spoke, and save a single kiss, they’d had no real interaction since. But he could not be a coward - he refused to be a coward - in his interactions with the mother of one of his children. So he forced himself to knock on the door.

“(Y/N),” he said, his hand flexing anxiously on the head of his cane. “May I come in?”

“Yes,” she called.

When he entered, she was sitting up in bed, her hair braided and falling over one shoulder, and a house robe tied loosely around her waist, the rest of her lost beneath the extra blankets. Edmont remembered how she’d trembled constantly while she slept, no matter how high they built the fire.

“How are you feeling?” he asked nervously. 

“I’m all right, just tired and nauseous.” She smiled faintly, and didn’t object when he motioned to the foot of her bed, a wordless request to sit.

“Would you like me to send for a healer to attend you? I can seek out a Gridanian if you prefer.”

“An Ishgardian healer is fine.” (Y/N) was watching him closely, as if she waited for something.

Leaning his cane against the post, he reached out and placed a hand on her leg, tentatively. “I’m sorry I was not here when you woke up. The trials for the cultists are underway, and House Fortemps must present a strong front, especially given Artoirel’s involvement.”

After a pause, he swallowed nervously and said. “You don’t have to remain forever, if that is not your wish, but… I would like it if you stayed in Ishgard, at least for the pregnancy.” He pulled his hand from her leg and clutched it with his other in his lap. “I have something I want to ask you. I know your answer, you’ve made that clear. But I love you, (Y/N). I adore you. So I will not - I _cannot_ \- stop asking, because what years yet remain to me, I _want_ to give to you, and I -”

“Yes.”

(Y/N)’s answer surprised Edmont, not the least because he hadn’t actually asked a question yet, and his head jerked as he turned to look at her. “What?”

She reached into her robe and pulled out a tattered piece of stationery, offering it to him. “Yes.” 

Edmont took it tentatively from her hands, and unfolded it, shocked to see his own familiar handwriting on the page. Then the contents came back to him, and he let the letter fall to the floor so he could kiss his fiancée.


	14. Epilogue: Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Warrior of Light returns to House Fortemps after another adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAH! It hurts my heart to end this fic because I love Edmont. But I'm not gonna force myself to drag it out. I hope everyone enjoyed our little adventure and hopefully I'll have an excuse to write him again soon!<3

Count Edmont de Fortemps sat at his desk, checking over the day’s correspondence - invitations to the usual round of balls and galas; a formal note of thanks to the Countess for her assistance with another attempt to summon Garuda; a request from Artoirel, that House Fortemps might sponsor a pilgrimage; and a letter from Emmanellain, detailing his latest adventures. This last he set aside, as the small figure on the settee began to stir.

“Papa?”

“Did you have a good nap?” he asked his youngest son, Sebastian, as the boy rubbed his eyes and came over, clutching a small stuffed rabbit. 

“Mm-Hmm… Is Momma home yet?” 

“Not yet,” Edmont replied. “But I’ve a letter from Emmanellain, if you’d like to read it.”

The boy’s eyes brightened and he scrambled up into Edmont’s lap. “Please, Papa. Have you read it yet?”

“Not yet. You woke up before I could.” He picked up the envelope and his letter opener, carefully keeping the blade away from his son while he opened it. 

Edmont set it aside and pulled out the letter, unfolding it and reading aloud.

_”To my dearest family,_

_Work proceeds apace in Azys Lla, aided by the things we have 'requisitioned' from the researchers the Garleans continue to send. I’ve managed to outfit the _Cutlass_ with some of the strange energy weapons you told me about, (Y/N), and they’ve certainly turned the tide against the Imperials._

_I’ll be returning to the Sea of Clouds, soon, to trade with the Vanu Vanu, then hopefully make it back to Ishgard in time for the Starlight Celebration. As much as I enjoy life aboard an airship, sometimes one longs for the comfort of the manor, and I dreadfully miss you all. If you have anything you’d like me to purchase, send a list with your return letter._

_Father, if you don’t mind, could you secure me an invitation to one of Old Man Haillenarte’s galas while I’m in the city? Lisette and I have been exchanging letters, and I wish to make my case to her father. If he allows me to court her, I may be in residence at the manor for some time, if that won’t be too much of an imposition._

_Honoroit reminds me to inquire about everyone’s health. I’m glad the fever that plagued the city last year did not find root in House Fortemps, and pray for everyone’s continued wellness._

_Sebastian, do see to your studies. You’ll be old enough next year to begin training with a sword, so if your tutors have only good things to say about you I’ll fetch you one from Kugane the next time I head that way._

_With Love,_

_Emmanellain”_

Sebastian was practically climbing on the desk in excitement. “A sword! Papa, I get to have a sword?”

_”If_ you tend to your studies,” Halone, he’d have to speak to Emmanellain about making promises like that, “and your mother approves.” Not that Edmont could think she wouldn’t. She’d already begun daydreaming of teaching the boy everything she knew, and babbled incessantly at Edmont about fitting armor on a six-year-old.

“Papa, do you think -” a loud ruckus from downstairs interrupted Sebastian, but he didn’t mind, as he hopped off of his father’s lap and dashed for the door, calling for his mother. Only (Y/N) ever entered the manor in that fashion.

With a sigh, Edmont took his cane and made his way downstairs at a sedate pace, coming into the foyer to find Sebastian already in his mother’s arms, squeezing her face and instructing her she _must_ allow him to have a sword.

“I’ll talk to your father,” (Y/N) replied, then smiled up at Edmont as he approached.

“My dear,” he said softly, and leaned close, pressing his lips to hers. “Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this and want to see more of my writing, check out my twitter: [@amandaterasu](https://www.twitter.com/amandaterasu/)!


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